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BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


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THE  ADVENTURES  OF 
THREE  WORTHIES 


/•^y-^fcc^ 


^ 


BY 

CLINTON  ROSS 

AUTHOR  OF  **  THE  GALLERY  OF  A  RANDOM  COLLECTOR, 

"the  SILENT  WORKMAN,"  "  THE 

SPECULATOR,"  ETC. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW   YORK  LONDON 

27  West  Twenty-third  St.  27  King  William  St.,  Strand 

Ube  "fftnicfcerbocljcc  B>rcs0 
i8gi 


Copyright,  1891 

BY 

CLINTON   ROSS 


To  C.  H.  if. 


1703627 


CONTENTS. 

"A  Well  Meaning  Booke  "    .         .       ix 
I.  VicoMTE  DE  Saint-Dernier       .        i 

II.    A  SlEUR  DE  BeRTRAND  .  .         83 

III.  The  Lady  at  the  Death.  (An 
Example  of  the  Manner  of  Chance 
Cited  in  the  Memoirs  of  the  Fifth 
Lord  Duesdale)    .         .         .         •       97 

The  Epilogue i6i 


"A  WELL  MEANING  BOOKE." 

(MONTAIGNE   TO   HIS   READER   THE  FIRST  OF 
MARCH,   1580.) 

NOW  the  adventures  of  these  worthy 
gentlemen,  one  of  modern,  and  one 
of  old  France,  and  the  last  of  the  England 
of  the  Stuarts,  were  told  when  the  air  was 
moist,  and  a  pattering  was  on  the  roofs. 
For 

''  Whanne  that  April  with  his  shoures  sote, 
The  drought  of  March  hath  perced  to  the  rote," 

the  pilgrims  Canterbury-ward  "  shall  tellen 
tales  tway."  When  roads  were  sodden  the 
witty  Margaret  of  Navarre  gave  the  seven 
days  of  her  recital.  So,  like  Montaigne,  say 
I,    "loe,    here  a  well  meaning  Booke,"  of 


Vlll  THREE   WORTHIES. 

a  fancied  past  on  a  rainy  day  in  a  chateau  of 
Touraine  by  the  Loire  loved  of  Balzac. 
Chateaux  ett  Espagtte  are  owned  by  all  men. 
For  an  hour  did  the  Host — an  evasive  spirit 
of  Romance — grant  a  chdteau  en  Touraine 
by  the  charming  stream,  a  setting  for  the 
tales.  Adventure  needs  a  frame,  to  fit  its 
telling  ;  must  be  as  carefully  put  as  ever  a 
canvas  jealously  hung  at  proper  height,  and 
in  the  light  displaying  the  coloring,  the 
drawing,  or  their  sad  lack.  Of  a  race, 
dating  on  the  spot  from  ancient  time,  a 
man  of  Paris,  too,  and  the  world,  the  Host 
deplored  the  bad  weather  as  if  his  guests' 
discomforts  brought  him  personal  sadness. 
Through  scurrying  mists  showed  the  marble 
figures  of  the  Park,  touched  with  a  green 
coating  from  the  moisture  of  the  fountains, 
where  these  presided  as  calm  classic  deities, 
wrought  by  an  artist  of  the  Renaissance. 
Branches  of  scattered  trees  held  here  and 
there  reluctant  foliage  ;  and  dead  leaves 
floated  on  a  stagnant   moat.     In-doors  the 


"A  WELL  MEANING  BOOKE."  ix 

dusk  lay  hesLvy,  half  absorbing  the  carvings 
of  the  great  fireplace,  the  mediaeval  mail  on 
the  oaken  walls,  the  sleeping  hounds  by  the 
hearth,  the  three  men,  weary  perhaps  of 
cigarettes  and  talk  ;  the  sweet  English  face 
of  Madame ;  the  coquettish  contour  of  a 
woman  of  fashion  ;  the  softer  curves  of  an 

Out  of  the  mysterious  recesses  of  the  place 
(dim  as  the  retreats  of  the  old,  the  forgotten 
of  Romance)  thence  outstepped  Monsieur, 
an  English  sentence  on  his  lips  :  '*  The  past 
has  its  uses,  if  it  lessen  the  enmd  of  a  rainy 
afternoon."  From  his  pocket  somewhere  he 
dragged  yellowed  papers,  old  MSS.,  lain 
away  in  forgotten  crannies.  One  he  said 
was  the  confession  of  a  connection  of  his 
house  long  ago,  who  for  his  soul's  sake  had 
taken  holy  orders. 

The  lady  of  fashion  shivered.  **  Must  you 
add  seriousness  to  the  rain  ?  "  said  she. 

This  intention  the  Host  disavowed,  turning 
you  may  believe  gallant  phrase.     Sorry  was 


X  THREE   WORTHIES. 

he  that  he  could  not  offer  the  matter  for  a 
Parisian  novel,  of  love  and  intrigue.  But  he 
had  a  simple  tale  of  love,  possibly  pleasing 
to  the  ingJnue,  while  likely  dull  to  Madame. 
"When  the  younger  lady  blushed,  and  the» 
elder  exclaimed,  the  urbane  master  of  the 
place  turned  to  a  newer  MS.,  given  him  by 
an  American,  an  executor  of  the  famous 
Saint-Dernier.  For  the  Saint-Demiers, 
like  the  Bonapartes,  are  related  across  the 
seas  to  those  queer  folk  that  swarm  over 
Paris  in  summer  ;  of  whom  De  Tocqueville 
wrote,  and  for  whom  an  Orleans  fought. 

Such  was  the  occasion  in  Touraine,  by  the 
Loire,  land  of  the  Conte  and  Balzac,  while 
the  rain  pattered  over  the  dead  leaves  in  the 
still  moat,  and  the  tales  left  our  fancies  in 
the  winding  paths  of  Romance,  where  were 
plotting  rogues,  and  their  foils,  fine  manly 
fellows  and  fair  ladies, — love,  duty,  revenge, 
making,  when  mixed,  adventure. 

Certain  good  people  who  now-a-days  try 
to  bind  fiction  to  a  local  habitation  and  a 


"A  WELL  MEANING   BOOKE.  XI 

name,  by  the  stout  rope,  "realism,"  may 
dislike  these  simple  tales,  dealing  first  with 
a  gentleman  of  modern  France  ;  and  then 
one  with  the  confession  of  a  great  personage 
of  long  ago,  turned  priest,  to  be  rid  of  a  sad 
world  ;  and  the  last  with  a  love  escapade  of 
an  English  boy,  who  grew  old  in  the  service 
of  the  Stuarts  in  exile  and  at  Whitehall. 
These  may  ponder  the  words  filched  from 
John  Florio's  version  of  the  "  good  old  Gallic 
Gentleman  "  : — "  a  well  meaning  Booke  doth 
at  the  first  entrance  forewame"  you,  "that 
in  contriving  the  same  I  have  proposed  unto 
myself  no  other  than  a  familiar  and  private 
end ;  I  have  no  respect,  or  consideration  at 
all,  either  to "  your  "  service,  or  to  my 
glory." 


'  And  he  began  with  right  a  merye  cheere 
His  tale  anon,  and  seide  as  ye  may  heere.' 

The  Prolog%te,  The  Canterbury  Tales, 


XIU 


I.  VICOMTE   DE  SAINT-DERNIER  ] 

1 


L 

VICOMTE  DE  SAINT-DERNIER 

"  Our  history  will  oblige  us  to  relate  some  matters 
of  a  more  strange  and  surprising  kind.  .  .  .  Some  are, 
with  M.  Dacier,  ready  to  allow  that  the  same  thing 
which  is  impossible  may  be  yet  probable." 

"  Henry  Fielding  in  Book  VIII.  o/  Tom  Jones.^'' 

That  day  I  had  been  rid- 
ing hard  on  a  message  of  the  Prince.  The 
country  was  filled  with  danger  to  me,  because 
my  message  was  not  trivial.  Close  behind 
was  the  orderly,  Dumont,  a  tough-skinned, 
short,  wrinkled  and  tanned  fellow.  Char- 
acter lies  open  only  to  the  adept  reader  on 
certain  faces  (and  a  fool  may  be  boastful  of 
the  skill  !).  If  I  had  been  expert  enough,  I 
might  have   read  volumes  while  the  horses 


S  THREE    WORTHIES. 

lagged  on,  and  the  man,  whose  past  was  only 
a  subject  for  my  conjecture,  was  in  some  ret- 
rospect. As  it  was,  while  the  lines  were 
there,  these  might  have  been  Persian,  or  any 
unknown  gibberish  ;  yet  I  knew  something 
of  men  even  then.  I  had  found  him  of  a 
January  day  shivering  in  the  Court  of  the 
Palais  Royale.  For  all  of  the  explanations 
he  had  to  offer,  there  were  gaps  plainly  dis- 
played by  the  furrows  of  the  cheeks.  I  never 
was  sure  of  his  nationality,  though,  after  I 
had  known  Constantinople,  I  suspected  him 
of  being  a  Turk.  When  the  Emperor  sent 
me  as  an  attache  to  the  Turkish  Embassy,  for 
some  reason  of  his  own  this  valuable  person — 
he  had  come  to  know  my  wishes  almost 
intuitively — pleaded  to  remain  in  Paris.  So 
persistent  was  he  in  this  that  I  even  was 
forced  to  accept  his  excuse.  When,  eight 
months  later  (we  had  been  as  far  as  India 
then),  Chantillon  and  I  came  one  July  day 
into  the  court  before  the  hotel  upon  the 
Avenue  de   I'Alma,   we  saw  Gervaise   Du- 


VICOMTE   DE    SAINT-DERNIER.  3 

mont  smoking  a  pipe,  as  imperturbable  as 
any  Sioux,  while  Monsieur  Argand's  grooms 
stood,  evidently  regarding  him  with  reveren- 
tial awe.  As  we  descended  from  \hejiacre  I 
pointed  the  fellow  out  to  Chantillon.  "  Do 
you  see  that  short,  dark-skinned  man  ?"  I 
questioned.  "  Surely,  a  Turk  or  an  Arab," 
declared  my  companion,  lighting  a  cigarette, 
while  the  concierge  jingled  his  keys  (for  the 
Hotel  Saint-Dernier  is  the  last  of  four  build- 
ings opening  upon  a  court  on  the  Avenue  de 
I'Alma,  not  a  block  from  the  Avenue 
Champs-Elysees).  "  A  rascal  of  a  mongrel," 
cried  I.  Then  I  told  him  how  I  had  been 
returning  from  a  great  ball  one  winter's 
night  five  years  before,  and  the  wine  was 
singing  in  my  veins,  when,  as  the  Rue  Rivoli 
opens  toward  i\iQ  facade  of  the  Palais  Royale, 
a  dark  figure  rushed  out  wildly  and  tried  to 
throw  itself  beneath  the  horses,  which  Pierre, 
the  coacliman,  drew  high  on  to  their  haunches 
in  the  nick  of  time.  And,  as  I  stood  up, 
gesticulating   and   crying   out,   I  suppose,  I 


4  THREE    WORTHIES. 

saw  this  same  dark-skinned  Arab,  whcjui  the 
flaring  gas-jets  showed.  The  fellow  disap- 
peared as  if  by  magic,  leaving  the  coachman 
and  me  rubbing  our  eyes.  "Doubtless  in 
the  Morgue  to-morrow,"  said  Pierre,  whip- 
ping up  his  horses.  That  night — it  might 
have  been  the  wine — I  fell  to  dreaming  ;  and 
in  all  of  my  dreams  this  dark,  eager-faced 
fellow  figured,  gliding  in  and  out,  like  some 
sad  chorus.  In  the  morning  the  cobwebs 
were  out  of  my  brain,  after  a  brisk  canter  on 
my  mare  Cyrilla — the  same  which  my  cousin 
entered  in  the  Derby,  you  may  remember  ; — 
but  in  the  afternoon  I  chanced  to  be  walking 
in  the  Palais  Royale,  where  I  think  I  had 
been  after  a  diamond,  when  looking  up  I  saw 
suddenly  the  same  face  on  which  the  gas-jets 
had  flared  the  night  before.  I  am  always 
impulsive,  and  suddenly  I  had  seized  that 
dark-skinned,  wrinkled  fellow  (he  must  have 
been  over  fifty)  by  the  shoulder.  "  WTiy  did 
you  try  to  throw  yourself  under  my  horses  ?" 
He  looked  at  me  strangely  for  a  moment. 


VICOMTE   DE   SAINT-DERNIER.  5 

"  I  have  failed  in  everything,  and  I  wished 
to  make  an  end  of  failure,"  said  he,  like 
one  repeating  commonplaces.  Then  I  re- 
called Pierre,  the  coachman,  pointing  with 
forefinger  toward  the  dark  river.  "  The 
Seine  ?  "  My  Turk,  or  Arab,  or  mongrel, 
whatever  he  might  have  been,  smiled.  "  I 
took  it  for  an  omen,  that  I  was  not  trod 
down  by  your  horses.  Monsieur,  and  I  re- 
solved  to   live   another    twenty-four  hours. 

To-night "  and  he   pointed   toward  the 

Louvre,  and  the  river  beyond  the  Quai. 
"  My  man,"  said  I,  *'  you  have  not  eaten  ?" 
"Not  in  twenty-four  hours."  "Do  you 
know  no  one  in  Paris  ?  Have  you  no  money  ?  " 
"  "Neither,"  said  he.  "  Monsieur,  I  told  you 
truly  ;  my  world  is  dead,  or  rather  I  am 
dead  to  it.  I  have  nothing  for  which  to  live. 
Yet,  if  you  will  give  me  a  post  in  your  house- 
hold— for  I  know  your  name — I  should  es- 
teem the  favor  a  new  lease  of  the  life  of 
which  I  am  tired.  If  Monsieur  will  concede 
so  much,  he  shall  not  find  me  lacking.     For 


6  THREE   WORTHIES. 

I  know  some  few  languages,  and  I  shall  be 
useful." 

So  he  went  on,  noting  my  mood,  and,  clever 
rascal  that  he  was,  profiting  by  it.  This  was 
the  man  whom  Chantillon  saw  in  the  court 
off  from  the  Avenue  de  I'Alma,  who,  as 
orderly,  rode  with  me  on  the  message  of  the 
Prince.  Up  to  the  time  when  we  took  our 
way  over  the  sodden  roads,  fearing  arrest  at 
every  turn,  or  a  volley  of  bullets,  I  did  not 
know  more  of  Gervaise  Dumont's  early  career. 
I  found  him  invaluable,  and,  though  at  first 
his  wicked  face  was  distasteful  enough,  I 
found  his  ready  wit  and  hand  almost  essen- 
tials, particularly  on  the  long  journeys  which 
I  was  accustomed  to  take  in  those  years.  He 
spoke  many  tongues  as  if  every  one  had  de- 
scended by  birthright.  I  know  his  English 
was  passable,  while  in  the  German,  Italian, 
Spanish,  and  a  dozen  minor  dialects,  his 
performance  was  quite  as  wonderful  as  that 
of  the  porter  in  a  continental  hotel.  On  the 
message  of  the  Prince,  as  a  hundred  times 


VICOMTE   DE   SAINT-DERNIER.  7 

before,  I  wondered  about  his  enigmatical 
face,  while  the  heavy  roadways  made  the 
progress  slow  enough,  giving  us  certainly 
time  for  any  reflection. 

We  then  must  have  ridden  twenty  miles 
through  the  country  abandoned  between  the 
two  armies,  and  it  was  almost  as  if  the  very 
birds  had  stopped  their  notes.  Rarely  did 
we  pass  a  human  being  ;  some  old  woman 
bearing  fagots,  like  a  figure  anim?ted  in  a 
picture  of  Millet.  I  suppose  the  men  for  the 
most  were  in  the  armies.  As  the  Hred  horses 
stepped  on  over  the  soggy  ways,  it  seemed 
to  me  that  I  never  had  known  so  melancholy 
a  landscape  as  this  under  the  grayish  sky. 
Suddenly  a  line  of  bright  light  broke  through 
a  rift  in  the  heavy  clouds.  Then  my  man, 
Dumont,  turning  in  the  saddle,  pointed,  his 
face,  too,  lighting  with  his  superstitious  ear- 
nestness, "An  omen,  surely."  Something  in 
the  voice  led  me  to  regard  him  closely  for  an 
instant.  At  this  point  a  hedge  bordered  the 
road  on  the  right,  some  scrub  oaks  covering 


8  THREE    WORTHIES. 

the  long  slope  beyond.  At  the  left  marshy 
meadows,  where  the  moisture  gleamed  back 
to  the  ray  of  the  sunshine,  sloped  away  to 
a  little  river,  beyond  which  were  low  barren 
hills,  occasionally  studded  with  buildings. 
Beyond,  and  to  our  faces,  were  higher  hills, 
with  dark  defiles,  rising  to  loftier  elevation, 
that,  of  a  clear  day,  might  be  blue,  but 
now  was  a  misty  outline.  Almost  before  we 
saw  battlemented  towers, — probably  surviv- 
ing from  the  time  when  warriors  arrayed 
themselves  like  modern  armored  cruisers. 
If  I  were  right  there  remained  fifteen  miles 
of  the  way  before  the  French  lines  could  be 
expected,  and  every  foot  was  through  a  coun- 
try where  a  German  army  probably  was.  1 
could  only  conjecture, — as  a  chart  lacks  some- 
thing of  the  slow  bram  of  even  a  very  stupid 
peasant.  I  despised  a  German  soldier  that 
day  ;  for  I  remembered  French  histor}', — my 
own  grandfather's  adventures  with  Napoleon, 
and  I  had  belief  in  the  star  of  the  Emperor. 
Soon  I  was  to  see  a  splendidly  disciplined 


VICOMTE   DE   SAINT-DERNIER.  9 

army  scattered ;  too  soon  I  was  to  know  of 
the  presence  of  a  Prussian  king  at  Versailles. 
But  that  afternoon  I  rode  through  a  country 
which  I  despised  because  it  was  essentially 
German  in  temper. 

The  sun  passed  behind  the  black  clouds. 
Moving  drearily  through  the  heavy  tracks, 
Dumont's  horse  pricked  its  ears,  when  the 
rider,  putting  a  finger  to  his  lip,  motioned  to 
me,  "Hist!" 

And  all  at  the  instant  I  saw  that  something 
stirred  behind  the  hedge.  I  first  thought  of 
the  despatches  in  the  leathern  belt  about  my 
waist. 

"You  had  better  surrender,  Mein  Herr," 
cried  the  Bavarian  leader  in  his  language. 

To  put  a  wearied  horse  at  a  hedge  is  at 
the  best  a  hazardous  experiment,  and  in 
this  case  I  did  not  know  my  animal.  But  it 
was  a  question  of  time  to  be  rid  of  the  belt 
of  despatches.  I  turned  the  mare  at  the 
hedge,  and,  at  the  second,  the  riders  swept 
down  upon  the  place  where  we  had  stood. 


lO  THREE   WORTHIES. 

carrying  Dumont  out  of  his  seat.  I  saw 
him  in  the  second  suspended  between  the 
saddle  and  a  puddle  of  muddy  water.  A 
horse  catches  something  of  the  human  spirit, 
and  interprets  quickly  the  mental  tremor 
reaching  unconsciously  to  the  fingers'  tips : 
as  the  riding-masters  say  often,  no  one  may 
be  a  rider  till  the  heart  may  be  as  erect  as 
the  head.  Thinking  neither  of  my  bones 
nor  the  poor  hack  under  me,  but  of  the 
precious  belt  of  despatches,  and  resolving 
that  my  captors  should  be  none  the  wiser  for 
the  capture,  I  raised  the  horse  with  arm  and 
spur  high  into  the  air.  Yet  the  leap  was  too 
great  for  unaccustomed  and  now  weary 
muscles  ;  and  while  the  animal's  legs  caught 
in  the  hedge  and  pawed  wildly  at  air,  I  flew 
into  space.  Luckily  I  landed  on  a  boggy 
spot,  which  gave  under  my  weight,  and, 
springing  up,  I  ran  for  dear  life.  A  bullet 
whistled  past,  then  many  sharp  reports,  but 
without  the  missiles  being  so  unpleasantly 
near.      Running  on  regardless  of  direction. 


VICOMTE   DE    SAINT-DERXIER.  II 

struggling  with  heavy  boots  over  the  uneven 
soil,  I  heard  the  pursuit  at  my  heels.  Mak- 
ing a  despairing  turn,  I  rushed  into  a  thicket, 
tearing  the  face  and  one  gloveless  hand. 
^Vith  satisfaction  I  heard  the  rout  taking 
the  false  trail.  Beyond  the  leafy  barrier 
was  a  glade.  Turning  into  this  refuge,  the 
scabbard  of  the  sword  catching  in  a  branch 
held  me  for  an  instant.  As  I  detached  the 
scabbard,  a  voice  in  German  called  out  that 
I  could  not  get  away.  Then  I  saw  at  my 
face  a  young  Bavarian  officer  holding  a 
levelled  pistol.  With  death  before,  I  dodged, 
fell  on  my  face,  scrambled  to  my  feet,  raised 
my  sword  in  time  to  catch  a  blow  irom  this 
unexpected  assailant.  Making  several  passes 
with  the  broad  blade,  I  caught  the  man 
under  his  guard,  yet,  though  I  had  passing 
skill  at  the  fence,  the  other  found  me  un- 
guarded, and  as  I  dodged,  seeing  at  the 
moment  my  blade  reach  into  his  side,  his 
v.-as  brought  against  my  temple.  Trees 
and  glade,    and  the   Bavarian   clutching   at 


12  THREE   WORTHIES. 

air, — all  reeled  the  instant  that  my  head 
seemed  bursting,  and  then  that  appeared 
the  space  of  a  second,  which  was  really  of 
several  hours.  I  was  aware  of  faint  chirp- 
ings, a  burst  of  bird  voices,  the  crackling  of 
twigs,  the  rustling  of  branches,  and  a  warm 
wind  upon  my  face.  These  occupied  a  long 
space  of  time  before  my  eyes  opened  upon  a 
sky  of  fathomless  view,  framed  by  branches. 
The  sun,  I  thought,  must  be  setting  ;  for 
this  rim  of  branches  was  fringed  with  yellow, 
while  a  little  space  below  the  line  of  sharp 
separation  between  light  and  shadow  the 
shade  lay  heavier.  A  bird  swung  for  an 
instant  against  the  blue  background  in  the 
frame;  perceptibly  the  yellow  light  lifted, 
the  line  of  shadow  pursuing.  I  raised  my- 
self on  an  elbow,  but  the  muscles  so  remon- 
strated that  I  quickly  fell  again,  to  stare 
around  toward  the  blue  with  its  circlet. 
After  a  space,  measured  by  the  fading  light, 
I  again  raised  myself  on  an  elbow,  while 
the  head  began   to    throb  ;    and  I   remem- 


VICOMTE   DE   SAINT-DERNIER.  I3 

bered  the  stout  blow  which,  in  my  passion, 
I  had  not  warded.  Then  I  caught  a  gleam  of 
red  vivid  against  the  grass,  which  the  long 
rainfall  had  rendered  of  a  clear  green.  I 
must  have  stared  at  this  bit  of  color  for  some 
moments  before,  with  sickening  sense,  I  saw 
that  it  was  the  red  breeches  of  my  assailant. 
For  I  never  had  killed  a  man  then,  and 
the  motionless  figure  was  fearful.  Once  I 
had  broken  the  Comte  Vender's  arm  at  Vin- 
cennes  ;  but,  though  I  might  have  killed  him, 
— and  I  had  reason  for  my  quarrel, — the  Ba- 
varian's red  breeches  seemed  to  declare  me 
a  Cain.  Again,  the  arm  yielded,  till,  with 
an  acute  nausea,  I  sank  to  the  ground.  You 
may  declare  that  this  was  mawkish  of  a  man 
who  had  had  experience  of  arms  at  Saint-Cyr, 
and  afterward  in  active  service,  yet  I  think  a 
sense  of  the  fearfulness  of  bloodshed  need 
not  detract  from  bravery.  Perhaps,  too,  I 
had  a  presentiment.  Bah  !  I  have  indeed 
two  natures  :  one  after  Voltaire  ;  another  af- 
ter the  fashion  of  a  penitent  in  the  Confes- 


14  THREE   WORTHIES. 

sional.  In  the  world  I  can  be  a  scoffer,  or 
merely  gay  ;  or,  out  of  it, — the  polite  world, 
— I  may  appreciate  the  fickleness  and  fro- 
wardness  of  our  human  temper,  and  I  can 
feel  as  violent  for  a  moral  as  ever  Bossuet. 
As  I  lay  upon  the  ground,  recovering  from 
the  shock  of  the  blow,  the  fact  of  my  assail- 
ant lying  there,  dead  from  my  thrust,  threw 
me  into  the  mood  of  consulting  a  priest,  and 
I  longed,  with  the  loathing  of  the  fact,  of  a 
weak  nature,  to  have  some  one  near  to  whom 
I  might  unburden  myself.  I  thought  of  the 
mother  (whom  I  shall  never  see  !)  who 
brought  me  up  in  some  sense  as  an  Eng- 
lish boy,  and  it  was  English  which  I  knew 
as  a  child.  I  saw  her  lying  still  and  immov- 
able to  all  of  my  cries  in  the  implacable  death 
which  knew  nothing  of  me.  Suddenly  I  rec- 
ollected the  despatches  ;  yet  feeling  for  the 
belt  I  found  the  papers  safe.  No  one  had 
followed  my  assailant.  The  hunters  had 
abandoned  their  prey  even  when  in  the 
net.     In  delight  at  this  discovery  I  leaped 


VICOMTE   DE   SAIXT-DERXIER.  1 5 

to  my  feet.  But,  standing,  I  found  myself 
tottering,  and  I  caught  at  one  of  the  trees. 
Something  bright  lay  in  the  grass.  Leaning 
forward  I  saw  that  it  was  a  little  flask  of 
spirits.  Unscrewing  the  stopper  I  took  a 
long  pull,  and  as  the  raw  brandy  went  down' 
the  throat,  like  a  draught  of  fire,  I  felt  sud- 
denly strength.  I  noted  a  monogram  on 
the  flask — "  F.  Von  H."  And  who  was  "  F. 
Von  H."?  Plainly  the  officer  whose  red 
breeches  had  caught  the  eye  when  I  wak- 
ened. The  glade  between  the  trees  now  was 
falling  into  deeper  shadovr,  and  I  almost 
thought  that  the  man's  legs  gave  a  convidsive 
twitch.  If  I  were  mistaken,  I  at  any  rate 
knew  the  need  of  getting  away  from  the 
place.  Walking  to  a  spot  which  seemed  to 
lift  above  the  trees,  I  found  that  indeed  I 
must  have  had  a  shaking,  and  that  I  was 
lame  in  every  muscle.  But  the  despatches 
made  me  forgetful  of  self,  as  I  neared  the 
slope  and  saw  beyond,  the  towers  and  battle- 
ments which  Dumont  and  I  had  noted  from 


l6  THREE   WORTHIES. 

the  road.  Lights  flickered  from  the  place, 
which,  whether  in  the  hands  of  the  German 
or  the  French,  at  least  was  the  nearest  goal, 
where  perhaps  I  might  dare  to  ask  assistance. 
Stars  pierced  the  darkening  blue,  and,  shiv- 
ering in  the  mists  from  the  damp  earth,  I 
found  that  the  projecting  towers  were  farther 
than  I  had  supposed.  Every  step  showed 
that  I  had  lain  in  the  open,  unconscious, 
longer  than  I  had  thought.  Deer  lifted  their 
heads  ;  a  flock  of  sheep,  scattered  among  the 
brown  trunks,  blinked  out  of  the  gathering 
shadows.  For  now  it  appeared  that  the  dark- 
ness could  be  seen  to  rise  from  the  ground. 
Picking  a  way  carefully  through  the  bushes, 
and  seeing  no  one,  I  almost  stepped  from  the 
edge  of  a  precipice  into  a  dark  and  broad 
pool,  from  which  there  began,  ominously, 
the  quick  croaking  of  frogs.  Will  you  be- 
lieve me,  an  owl  **  too-v/hitted,"  while  bats 
skimmed  the  surface  of  the  water,  as  if  every- 
thing had  been  arranged  by  a  narrator  of  the 
actions  of  the  black  art.     Nor  am  I  sure  that 


VICOMTE   DE    SAIXT-DERNIER.  1 7 

there  may  not  be  a  world  of  trath  behind 
the  curtain  of  legendary  symbolism.  Dark 
spots,  like  this  point  of  the  moat  of  the  Cha- 
teau Grand  Mai,  with  twitting  owls  and  flut- 
tering bats,  may  be  merely  physical  pictures  of 
metaphysical  states  and  moral  chaoses.  That 
night,  when  I  leaned  in  the  gloaming  at  the 
edge  of  the  moat  of  Grand  Mai,  I  indeed  was 
not  prone  to  gloomy  abstraction.  As  to  every 
one  seriousness  is  sooner  or  later,  so  it  has 
appeared  to  me,  and  I,  whose  most  grave 
thought  was  the  fortune  of  the  favorite  at 
Longchamps,  or  of  the  Derby,  or  Ascot,  or 
the  frov.-n  or  smile  of  INIademoiselle  of  the 
Varietes,  or  perhaps  of  the  Odeon,  now 
have  had  occasion  to  think  seriously.  A  wry 
face  often  expresses  simply  a  temper  incom- 
patible with  circumstance — a  distorted  and 
wry  soul.  But  the  Sieur  de  Montaigne  has 
reasoned  on  this  topic  more  nimbly  than  I ; 
so  I  will  tell  simply  how  I  leaned  on  the  edge 
of  the  moat  of  Grand  Mai,  noting  the  thick 
I  fringe  of  bushes  of  the  opposite  slope,  beyond 


1 8  THREE  WORTHIES. 

which  was  the  gray  stone  massive  side  of  the 
Chateau.  I  did  not  suspect  that  I  was  near 
the  place  of  which  I  had  heard  much  the  year 
before.  The  investigation  of  the  silent  stag- 
nant pool,  with  its  flitting  bats  and  crying 
owls,  could  give  no  assurance  of  whether  I 
might  dare  to  ask  for  hospitality.  Yet  it 
was  certainly  in  the  interest  of  my  mission 
that  I  should  have  food  and  a  horse,  or  at 
least  some  knowledge  of  the  way.  I  turned 
from  the  bushes  that  fringed  the  precipice  at 
my  feet,  which  I  skirted  in  the  opposite 
direction.  The  sky  now  reddened  into  an 
afterglow  seeming  to  retard  the  swiftness 
of  rising  darkness.  Stepping  cautiously,  I 
heard  the  quick  clear  stroke  of  a  chapel  bell, 
borne  on  the  damp  air  as  from  a  distance. 
Some  one  called  in  French  a  vigorous 
"Hello!"  A  few  rods  farther,  pushing 
aside  the  bushes,  I  brought  up  on  a  gravel 
path,  bordering  a  road,  which  led  beyond  to 
a  bridge  to  the  front  of  the  Chateau  ;  and 
there,  before  the  flickering  lights  of  the  win- 


VICOMTE   DE   SAINT-DERNIER.  Ig 

do%v  beyond,  was  a  Prussian  sentr}'.  Hardly 
had  my  eyes  fallen  on  him  before  a  troop 
galloped  past  my  hiding-place,  and,  as  1 
drew  farther  into  my  recess,  I  saw  that  their 
leader  was  in  the  uniform  of  a  general,  and 
that,  erect  in  the  saddle,  he  showed  youthful- 
ness  belying  a  gray  beard.  Now  I  stepped 
back  cautiously,  for  the  thought  of  the  mis- 
sion and  its  importance  to  the  Prince  put  me 
on  the  alert  to  escape  the  trap,  and  I  forgot 
the  muscles  strained  in  the  fall  and  stiffened 
by  exposure  to  the  damp  during  my  uncon- 
sciousness. As  I  moved  backward  a  heavy 
hand  fell  on  the  shoulder.  *'  Mein  Herr, 
you  are  a  prisoner." 

The  after-glow  lit  the  grizzled  face  of  this 
Prussian  sergeant,  who  appeared  to  have 
sprung  from  the  earth.  I  started  to  push 
off  the  man,  when  two  levelled  bayonets 
emphasized  his  claim  to  surrender. 

**  Plainly,  I  am  your  prisoner,"  I  said  in 
German,  which  I  speak  fairly  well. 

"  Herr   Saint-Dernier,"   he    said,  turning 


20  THREE   WORTHIES. 

my  name  clumsily  on  his  German  tongue, 
*'  we  have  been  looking  for  you.  I  suspect 
that  on  your  capture  depend  the  plans  of 
General,  the  Graf  Von  Beyreuth." 

For  myself,  I  was  in  any  rather  than  a 
laughing  mood,  but  I  suddenly  recollected 
that  weeping  did  not  profit  a  relief  even  to 
the  feeling,  while  I  still  held  the  precious 
despatches.  Since  resistance  was  useless,  I 
followed  my  captor  through  a  paved  court, 
an  outer  hall,  and  into  a  smaller  room, 
where,  on  the  fire-dogs,  I  noticed  a  strangely 
familiar  crest — that  of  a  stag  bearing  an  un- 
sheathed blade  in  its  jaws.  The  flaring  log 
displayed  the  same  design  on  the  wainscoting. 
AVhile  a  tall  grenadier  stood  by  the  door,  I 
began  to  question  how  I  had  fallen  into  the 
trap  plainly  laid  for  me.  (Yet  the  despatches 
were  untouched.)  But  by  some  means  the 
Bavarians,  as  well  as  these  Prussians,  had 
had  the  intention  of  arresting  the  Prince's 
messenger  ;  and  here  I  was  at  their  mercy. 
Then   the  face  (the  evil  lines  on  the  face 


VICOMTE   DE    SAINT-DERNIER.  21 

rather)  of  the  orderly,  Dumont,  seemed  to 
solve  the  problem.  I  longed  to  have  the  fel- 
low within  reach  to  deal  out  to  him  his  desert. 
Lame  and  mud-covered  as  I  was,  the  thought 
of  the  man  threw  me  into  violent  passion. 

A  spurred  boot  clanked  in  the  corridor. 
The  sentry  threw  back  the  door,  admitting 
first  a  tall  servant,  an  Alsacian,  I  thought, 
carrying  a  candle  ;  and  behind  strode  another 
whose  upright  and  military  bearing  I  had  ad- 
mired when  he  had  passed,  at  the  head  of 
the  little  troop  of  infantry,  my  hiding-place 
in  the  thicket.  The  servant  put  the  candle- 
stick upon  a  small  table  of  carved  oak.  The 
General,  Von  Beyreuth — for  it  was  he, — 
bowed  in  the  manner  of  a  soldier  who  pre- 
serves the  evidences  of  gentle  breeding,  who 
can  be  as  urbane  as  on  occasion  he  may  be 
severe. 

"  Monsieur  Saint-Dernier,  I  regret  this 
detention,  and  that  you  are  my  prisoner,"  he 
began,  with  an  accent  which  would  have 
pleased  a  Parisian  of  the  Boulevards. 


22  THREE   WORTHIES. 

**  Not  SO  sincerely  as  I,  Monsieur,"  said  I, 
thinking  of  the  precious  belt  with  which  I 
believed  I  was  shortly  to  be  asked  to  part. 

"Oh,  Monsieur,  it  was  the  necessity  of 
war  that  we  should  get  the  despatches — which 
we  have  read  and  acted  upon." 

Now  it  was  my  time  to  display  consterna- 
tion and  dismay  ;  for  certainly  the  belt  was 
tight  about  the  waist.  Could  they  have  read 
these  while  I  was  in  my  faint  ?  And  have 
returned  them  ?  This  idea  suggested  itself  ; 
again,  Dumont's  treachery  ;  and  again,  that 
the  orderly  had  made  some  clever  substitu- 
tion ;  for  I  thought  of  Gervaise  Dumont's 
face,  with  its  untranslatable  expression,  as  it 
had  been  some  hours  before  while  the  horses 
lagged  on.  Or  was  the  Prussian  playing 
spider  to  my  fly  ? 

"It  is  the  part  of  conqueror,  perhaps,  to 
indulge  in  sarcasm,"  I  managed  to  mutter 
between  my  teeth. 

"  Monsieur,"  he  went  on,  with  grave  dis- 
regard of  my  temper,  "  Mademoiselle  Lou- 


VICOMTE   DE   SAINT-DERNIER.  23 

vois  is  my  niece.  Accident  took  me  to 
this,  her  house,  as  it  brought  about  your 
capture." 

^' Oh,  Monsieur,"  I  managed  to  say;  for 
Mademoiselle  Louvois  recalled  certain  win- 
ter days  on  the  Boulevard  Saint-Germain, 
my  aunt,  and  one  of  the  most  charming 
young  girls.  And  I  had  stumbled  upon  this 
friendly  Chateau.  I  stared  at  the  Graf  Von 
Beyreuth. 

"Yes,  Monsieur,"  he  went  on  gravely. 
"You  are  a  prisoner  of  war — and  of  your 
friends.  For  I  knew  your  father — a  brave 
man.  Will  you  believe,  then,  that  I  regret 
that  the  chance  of  war  has  necessitated  me 
depriving  you  of  your  papers  ?  " 

If  I  were  bewdldered — for  the  belt  cer- 
tainly, as  I  say,  was  about  my  waist — I  trust 
I  did  not  show  this  in  unmannerly  fashion  ; 
though  after  a  time  I  put  the  question  :  "  You 
doubtless  caught  my  orderly  ?  " 

"A  detachment  of  the  Bavarians  did  that. 
He  is  an  intcllic^ent  fellow." 


24  THREE   WORTHIES. 

"  Dumont  !"  I  gasped  under  my  breath; 
for  now  I  believed  only  in  the  fellow's  du- 
plicity. There  were  many  spies  ;  and  this 
man  whom  I  had  trusted  !  Yet,  how  could 
he  have  known  ?  It  might  have  been  some 
person  about  the  Prince. 

Will  you  believe  that  first  of  all  I  thought 
of  my  mission  ;  and  then  of  Claire  Louvois, 
and  the  strange  circumstance  of  being  now  in 
her  house,  her  uncle's  prisoner?  If  this  is 
believed,  much  of  what  followed  will  be  un- 
derstood ;  for  it  will  be  seen  how  dear  I  held 
my  mission. 

But  when  I  once  thought  of  the  young 
lady  I  forgot  all  else.  And  I  thanked  the 
Graf  for  his  hospitality  to  a  prisoner  ;  for  I 
was  to  dine  v.-ith  him  and  his  niece.  A  care- 
ful watch  was  kept,  however,  while  I  made 
myself  as  presentable  as  possible  for  a  weary 
and  travel-stained  and  lame  man.  I  could 
not  forget  for  a  moment  that  my  detention 
was  regarded  as  important ;  for  the  Graf  had 
said  himself  that  a  spoken  word  was  as  dan- 


VICOMTE   DE   SAINT-DERNIER.  2$ 

gerous  as  a  written  one.  Yet  shortly  I  was 
in  the  elysium  that  very  young  men  conjure 
up  in  relation  to  some  particular  fair  one. 
The  meeting  was  strange  ;  but  strange  in- 
deed was  the  whole  adventure.  Nor  for  a 
few  days  did  I  think  so  much  of  the  message 
of  the  Prince  as  I  did  of  Mademoiselle  Lou- 
vois'  eyes.  I  have  noticed  how  the  eyes 
which  have  a  particular  personal  interest 
in  a  narrative  may  bore  an  outsider — and 
while  these  eyes  never  have  bored  me,  I 
ought  not  to  give  them  too  prominent  a  place 
in  the  story  of  an  adventure  quite  distinct.  I 
saw,  when  the  Graf's  valet  had  made  me 
somewhat  more  presentable,  a  young  lady 
whom  I  had  met  last  in  Paris,  and  before,  of 
a  March  day,  near  Havre. 

For  a  few  days  I  forgot  my  mission,  and  I 
am  bound  to  say  that  the  grizzled  German 
warrior  did  not  recall  it ;  but  proved  him- 
self, under  trying  circumstance,  as  great  an 
adept  in  courtesy  as  in  military  manoeuvre  ; 
the  history  cf  the  events  of  those  years  de- 


26  THREE  WORTHIES. 

clare  liis  cleverness  ;  and  in  the  days  at 
Grand  Mai  I  came  to  understand  certain 
traits  of  the  Fatherland  upon  which  a  mili- 
tary culture  has  been  put. 

The  second  night,  I  think,  when  the 
sentinel  was  conducting  me  to  my  room, — 
the  same  man  whose  regular  tread  I  heard 
at  night  before  the  door, — the  second  even- 
ing, I  believe, — the  sentinel  and  I  met, 
nearly  opposite  my  door,  a  little  fair  woman, 
hardly  more  than  a  girl,  who  seemed  to  trip 
and  fall  almost  uhder  my  feet  ;  I  leaned 
toward  her,  as  did  the  sergeant.  But  this 
blonde  person  was  on  her  feet  before  either 
of  us  could  reach  her.  As  t>he  turned,  her 
sharp  gray  eyes  showing  her  chagrin,  two 
words  reached  me,  "Be  watchful."  Not- 
ing her  retreating  figure,  the  tall  sergeant 
tittered,  "  A  pretty  little  woman,  Mein  Herr, 
— the  housekeeper's  daughter,"  and  he  threw 
open  the  door  of  my  chamber.  This  was  a 
small  room  panelled  with  mahogany.  At 
cue  comer  stood  an  old-time  bedstead,  and 


VICOMTE   DE    SAINT-DERNIER.  27 

between  the  windows  was  a  carved  oak  dres- 
sing-case. Two  chairs  completed  the  furni- 
ture. The  windows  were  barred  by  heavy 
iron  shutters,  fastened  by  padlocks,  a  pre- 
caution quite  unnecessar}',  I  thought,  when  I 
looked  down  a  sheer  descent  of  full  fifty  feet 
into  a  moat,  where  the  moon,  now  high  above 
the  wooded  horizon,  lay  reflected  ;  and  fax 
beyond  was  the  dimmed  outline  of  the 
mountains. 

Too  tired  as  I  was  to  think  of  even  the 
most  important  matters,  yet  the  events  of 
the  day  passed  before  in  all  their  confusion. 
I  still  had  the  despatches,  unless  my  treacher- 
ous orderly,  or  some  spy  about  the  Prince, 
had  delivered  their  import  to  the  enemy.  I 
knew  how  important  was  the  delivery  of 
these  despatches.  So  I  sat  there  in  the  dark- 
ness thinking  of  the  strangeness  of  the  ad- 
venture, Claire  Louvois'  charming  face,  and 
the  meaning  of  the  little  maid's  "  Be  watch- 
ful." Yet  to  a  man  as  weary  as  I  that 
night,  love  and  adventure  may  not  suffice  to 


28  THREE   WORTHIES. 

keep  away  sleep,  till  I  thought  I  was  on  the 
parade,  when  my  eyes  opened  on  a  sunny 
glare.  Again  came  the  sound,  brisk  and 
martial,  of  clarionet  and  fife.  Rushing  to 
the  window,  I  noted  first  of  all  the  wooded 
hills  displayed  in  clear  green  under  the  sun- 
shine,  which  just  had  fallen  over  the  heights, 
and  was  reaching  into  the  hollows.  A  dis- 
solving mist  masked  the  lowlands  and  the 
line  of  the  river.  The  highway,  losing  itself 
beyond  the  slope,  was  crowded  with  march- 
ing men.  I  indeed  must  have  stood  an  hour 
noting  the  soldiers  who  so  soon  were  to  hold 
all  France  ;  and  the  shouts  of  the  men  to 
the  horses  tugging  at  the  heavy  artillery 
were  borne  to  me  through  the  shutters.  WTiat 
did  this  movement  signify  ?  And  how  was 
the  hindrance  of  my  mission  connected  with 
it?  When  my  freedom  might  profit  the 
Prince,  here  was  I  caged  ;  and  the  informa- 
tion, obtained  I  knew  not  how,  probably 
had  been  acted  upon. 

But  later  when  I  was  again  with  Claire 


TICOMTE   DE    SAINT-DERNIER.  29 

Louvois,  the  apprehension  and  despair  of 
the  prisoner  fled.  In  my  life  I  never  had  an 
experience  quite  as  delightful  as  the  one  of 
that  day  when  I  was  a  prisoner  in  the  forest 
fastness  of  Alsace.  I  afterwards  thought, 
when  I  was  in  a  religious  mood,  that  this 
was  given  to  encourage  me  at  one  time, 
to  madden  me  at  another.  For  the  scene 
as  I  left  her  in  the  evening  of  the  event- 
tul  day  remained  with  me  ahvays  :  the 
young  lady  with  her  spirited  face,  the  chan- 
ging deep  eyes,  that  now  were  light,  again 
dark,  shewing  their  owner's  charming,  wo- 
manly spirit  ;  Madame  Fromant,  her  com- 
panion, regarding  the  cards, — for  it  was  after 
bezique  ;  Monsieur  Abbe  Fontaine's  non- 
committal polite  face,  understanding  us  thor- 
oughly, though  of  him  I  could  not  have  told 
you  a  word  ;  the  tall  Alsacian  going  mechani- 
cally about  our  wants  ;  the  black  Italian 
hound,  with  its  long  muzzle  in  Mademoiselle's 
hand  ;  the  carving  of  the  wainscoting,  lit  by 
the  flickering  candles ;  the  portraits  on  the 


30  THREE  WORTHIES. 

walls,  which  in  such  a  light  appear  to  take 
on  life  and  expression.  Passing  from  this 
scene  to  a  room  forlornly  chill  and  dark,  for 
an  instant  I  indeed  was  heartsick. 

Leaning  against  the  iron  shutters,  and 
looking  into  the  black  depth  where  the  moat 
lay,  the  wind  wailing  and  whining  about  the 
ancient  stronghold,  I  had  the  illusion  that  I 
heard  voices,  faint,  gasping,  and  frightful, 
the  sinful  past  of  the  place.  The  events  of 
the  few  days  ;  my  man,  Gervaise  Dumont ; 
my  detention  ;  Claire  Louvois  ;  the  girl 
stumbling  before  me  in  the  corridor  ; — these 
were  all  before  me.  Glancing  about  the 
dismal  place,  I  blew  out  the  candle.  Then 
again  I  heard  the  man  outside  the  door  ;  for, 
as  I  say,  I  never  was  permitted  to  forget  that 
I  was  guarded  closely.  I  raised  myself  on 
elbow,  trying  to  penetrate  the  darkness, 
feeling  to  know  if  the  belt  of  despatches 
certainly  were  safe,  and  thinking  of  the 
salon  which  I  had  left. 

As  after  deep  sleep,  I  seemed  to  have  been 


VICOMTE   DE    SAINT-DERNIER.  3! 

unconscious  only  a  moment  when  I  was 
shaken  roughly,  and  strong  arms  held  me 
down,  like  one  in  nightmare.  A  face  showed 
vaguely  in  the  grayish  light  reaching  through 
the  iron  shutters,  and  more  familiarly  as  with 
greater  distinctness  it  bent  farther  toward 
me  ;  and,  still  struggling  with  sleep  and 
striving  to  separate  the  real  from  the  unreal, 
I  heard  a  voice  : 

"  Hist,  Monsieuj,  not  a  word." 

**  Gen'aise  !  " 

"It  is  I,  Monsieur, — I,  Dumont.  Mon 
Dieu;  do  not  or}' out.  The  walls  have  ears"  ; 
while  the  pattering  rain,  taking  up  the  whis- 
per, absorbed  it  ;  till  awake,  I  struggled 
with  the  arms,  forcing  them  back,  and 
clutching  the  man  by  the  shoulder,  whose 
dark  face  and  gleaming  eyes  shone  in  the 
gray  light  as  once  in  the  Palais  Royale. 

"  You  have  not  betrayed  me  then  ?  " 

"  Not  I  ;  some  spy  about  the  Prince. 
Hush,  I  beg  of  you."  I  twitched  his  shoulder, 
muttering,  "  I  will  save  the  executioner." 


32  THREE   WORTHIES. 

**  Indeed,  I  did  not,  Monsieur.  Hush,  I 
beg  of  you.  Believe  that  I  persuaded  them 
that  a  decoy  despatch  was  the  true  one.  Do 
not  ask  more.  We  have  only  a  second — a 
second." 

**  You  are  intelligent ";  for  I  was  thinking 
of  the  Graf's  words. 

"  Do  not  even  breathe."  Again  there  was 
the  wind  (which  had  been  rising)  between  the 
rain-drops. 

"  Come,  Monsieur  !  Carefully  !  Here  are 
your  clothes  !  " 

I  was  sitting  up,  by  this  time  in  possession 
of  the  senses.  In  the  dim  morning,  breaking 
vaguely  through  the  blackness  of  the  storm, 
I  saw  Gervaise  Dumont,  the  orderly.  His 
dark,  earnest,  and  evil  countenance  showed 
the  eagerness  of  his  purpose.  A  draught  of 
cold  air  swept  my  face,  and  I  saw,  on  seek- 
ing the  cause,  that  a  piece  of  the  wainscoting 
was  swung  open  at  the  place  between  the 
windows  where  the  dressing-case  had  stood. 
I  understood  that  Dumont  in  some  way — 


VICOMTE   DE    SAINT-DERNIER.  33 

wi*h  his  peculiar  cleverness — had  happened 
on  this  old  passage,  perhaps  now  forgotten, 
dating  from  the  time  when  secret  exits  were 
important  to  the  economy  of  Grand  Mai. 
Should  I  trust  him  again  ?  And  was  he 
leading  me  to  the  fulfilment  of  my  mission  ? 
Or  to  some  cunning  device  to  put  me  out  of 
the  way  of  being  troublous  to  him  as  a  spy  ? 

' '  It  may  be  now  that  I  do  not  care  to  avail 
myself  of  the  chance.  Besides,  Gervaise,  it 
is  too  late." 

Standing  there,  like  a  Mephistopheles,  he 
hissed  back,  vv^hile  the  wind  whistled  out- 
side :  "  Monsieur,  believe  me.  My  life  is 
not  worth  that,"  and  he  snapped  a  thumb 
against  a  forefinger.  **  Not  worth  that  if 
they  catch  me  here.  Have  I  ever  proven 
unfaithful  ?  Have  I  not  been  of  service  in 
many  ways,  as  indeed  I  ought  ?  Come. 
Quick,  or " 

And  then  it  was,  while  this  unexpected 
claimant  of  my  duty  talked,  that  I  thought  of 
the  yesterday ;  and  that  he  divined  my  thought. 


34  THREE   WORTHIES. 

"  Oh,  I  know,  Monsieur  ;  a  woman  before 
the  message  of  the  Prince."  And  I  caught 
him,  as  he  stood  there,  shaking  him,  while 
he,  out  of  fear,  uttered  not  a  word. 

"  Fellow  ;  rascal  !  "  And  then,  gasping,  he 
said,  his  words  like  blows  physically  forcible  : 

"  I  am  striving  with  you  against  yourself. 
Shall  it  be  said  that  a  woman's  eyes  made 
Monsieur  Saint-Dernier  weak,  forgetful  of 
duty  ?  " 

And  then  my  hands  fell  nervelessly  from 
their  grasp. 

"You  are  not  on  parole  ;  and  what  indeed 
would  a  parole  be  to  the  importance  of  such 
a  matter?" 

"  Does  it  indeed  matter  now  to  him  ? — to 
the  Prince  ?  " 

He  moved  forward  with  the  motion  of  a 
cat,  his  hissing  voice  close  to  my  ear. 

**  That  indeed  it  does.  Have  I  not  told 
you  that  the  false  despatch  was  on  the  wrong 
track?  Monsieur,  our  escape  is  of  import- 
ance.    I  beg  of  you  not  to  delay." 


VICOMTE    DE    SAINT-DEP.NIER.  35 

Now  indeed  I  understood.  Here  perhaps 
was  the  chance  to  carry  out  my  mission.  I 
could  only  conjecture  upon  the  means  adopt- 
ed by  Dumont,  who  seemed  in  that  darkish 
dawn  like  some  evil  spirit.  If  this  were  only 
a  chance,  must  I  not  embrace  it  ?  Yes,  T 
must  make  the  most  of  my  chances  ;  and 
duty  transcends  love.  If  the  clever  rascal 
were  leading  me  into  some  trap  ? 

"  I  will  kill  you." 

"Ah,  you  may,  Monsieur,"  he  answered, 
moving  now  indeed  like  a  cat  toward  the 
opening  in  the  wainscoting.  A  black  spot 
against  this  dark  aperture,  he  motioned  to 
me  to  follow.  The  whole  matter  had  not 
taken  many  minutes,  and  now,  with  duty 
beckoning, — a  devil's  shadow,  I  fancied, 
calling  from  happiness,  —  I  was  in  my 
clothes. 

"  Hist,  Monsieur."  Again  the  step  sounded 
in  the  corridor.  Listening,  and  as  quietly  as 
I  could,  I  followed  Gervaise  to  the  opening. 
A  chair  moved  in  the  corridor^  or  so  I  thought. 


36  THREE   WORTHIES. 

*'  Your  guard  is  wakening  !  No  time. 
Monsieur  !  " 

With  the  word  he  pulled  me  through  the 
opening,  and  down  a  step  ;  and  then,  reach- 
ing forward,  he  caught  at  something  which 
drew  the  wainscoting  together  with  a  sharp 
metallic  click.  A  match  was  struck,  and, 
lighting  the  candle,  Gervaise  showed  me 
that  we  were  at  the  summit  of  narrow  stone 
steps  ;  and  at  the  instant  the  fellow's  intelli- 
gent, wicked  face  was  declared  in  that  dark 
passage. 

"  How  did  you  contrive  this?" 

He  laughed  softly.  "  Through  the  vanity 
of  a  young  woman ^  iSIadame  Bourgot's,  the 
housekeeper's  daughter.  I  can  twist  a  wo- 
man.    But  come  !  " 

Yet,  turning  as  we  descended,  he  whis- 
pered again  :  "  Indeed  all  is  contrived, — 
even  horses  are  waiting.  Do  I  not  know  how 
to  deal  with  women  ?  " 

The  steps,  worn,  and  of  irregular  length, 
showing   their  great   antiquity,  went  down 


VICOMTE   DE    SAINT-DERNIER.  37 

much  below  the  level  of  the  moat;  and,  I 
thought  probably  through  the  thick  body  of 
the  ancient  wall.  Nearing  the  bottom,  water 
ran  in  places  across  the  stone,  moss  and 
slime  hung  against  the  sides,  and  I  shivered 
with  the  damp.  At  the  lowest  step  a  wall 
stopped  the  way.  Gervaise  turned  abruptly 
to  the  right,  leaning  forward  through  the 
low  opening  at  the  farther  passage. 

"  It  will  be  higher  directly,"  he  said,  while, 
as  he  turned,  the  candle  lit  his  face  gro- 
tesquely. My  foot  struck  a  soft  object ;  and, 
as  its  eyes  glared,  a  little  snake  wriggled 
away.  Directly  the  passage  was  higher. 
Water  dripped  and  oozed  through  the  irregu- 
lar ceiling.  With  an  irresistible  tendency  to 
chattering  teeth,  I  drew  the  coat  closer. 

"  We  are  under  the  moat,"  said  Gervaise 
again  ;  and  I  easily  believed  him.  Wherever 
he  was  leading,  I  was  following  duty. 

"A  step.  Monsieur!"  Now  Gervaise's 
figure  was  above  and  beyond.  Suddenly  it 
paused,  and  bent  forward  with  ear  against 


33  THREE   WORTHIES. 

the  wall.  A  low,  quick  knock  reached 
me. 

"  Mademoiselle  Louise  !  "  Again,  "  Made- 
moiselle Louise  !  "  A  woman's  voice,  the 
inflection  that  once  had  warned  me  with 
"  Be  v/atchful,"  answered  : 

*'  It  is  safe,  Monsieur  Gervaise." 

Instantly  a  door  seemed  to  open  ;  the 
little  fair  woman  who  had  stumbled  before 
me  in  the  corridor  at  Grand  Mai  stood  in  the 
centre  of  what  appeared  to  be  a  cellar  piled 
with  rubbish.  A  wooden  ladder  led  to  a 
trap,  which  was  opened  a  crack. 

' '  The  horses  are  ready  ; — you  know  the 
place?" 

An  uncertain  voice  reached  us  from 
above. 

"  There  are  people  all  about  in  the  park. 
Tell  them  to  be  careful,  Louise  !  " 

For  answer  Gervaise  Dumont  ascended 
the  ladder. 

"Wait,  Monsieur,"  he  whispered,  blowing 
out  the  candle.     As  the  trap  closed  behind. 


VICOMTE   DE    SAINT-DERNIER.  39 

only  a  thread  of  white  light  entered,  vaguely 
showing  me  Louise  Bourgot. 

"Ah,  Monsieur,  it  was  a  fearful  risk — a 
fearful  risk.     How  did  I  dare  ?  " 

"  You  tried  to  let  me  know  ?  " 

"  I  tried  to  let  you  know  that  he  would 
come, — to  prepare  you.  Oh,  Monsieur,  I  love 
him  ;  and,  when  the  war  shall  be  over,  he  will 
come  to  marry  me.    I  am  risking  everything." 

The  men's  steps  sounded  overhead. 

"  It  is  old  Alphonse,  the  forester,"  she 
said.  "  You  are  in  his  cellar.  You  see  his 
son,  Philippe,  is  in  love  with  me.  Philippe, 
who  is  a  soldier — Alphonse  is  too  old  for 
that,^-shovv-ed  me  the  passage  when  we 
were  children.  The  stupid  Prussians  did 
not  suspect  it  once." 

I  heard  her  low  sobs. 

"Well?" 

**  Monsieur,  Alphonse  loves  his  son,  as  I 
— as  I  do  your  gallant.  I  went  to  him  and 
told  him,  as  Gervaise  told  me, — that  I  should 
marry  Gervaise  Dumont  unless  be  should  aid 


40  THREE   WORTHIES. 

me  in  getting  him  away.  Then  old  Alphonse 
was  in  a  rage, 

"  *  You  're  a  hussy  ! '  said  he. 

'*  'And  a  Frenchwoman  ! '  said  I. 

**  *  Is  it  for  France  ?  '  said  he. 

"  'Alphonse,'  said  I,  '  for  Philippe's  sake, 
and  for  France,  we  must  help  Monsieur  to 
escape.     If  not * 

"'If  not?' 

*"  I  shall  marry  that ' 

"  '  That  ugly-faced  rascal,'  said  he,  mean- 
ing Gervaise.  '  Yet  I  care  not  for  that. 
Mademoiselle.  That  would  be  better  for 
Philippe.     There  are  enough  girls ' 

"  '  So  there  may  be,'  said  I. 

"  'Ah,  you  pretty  doll,  and  dollish  fool,' 
said  he  (I  could  take  so  much  from  a 
dotard,  Monsieur)  ;  '  I  care  not  for  you  ; 
but  if  I  am  too  old  to  fight  for  France,  I 
certainly  may  do  this  much.'  " 

Her  chatter  had  a  strain  of  hysteria,  which, 
though  subdued,  occasionally  escaped  her 
restraint. 


VICOMTE   DE    SAINT-DERNIER.  4I 

"Oh,  I  cannot  let  him  go — I  cannot, 
Monsieur." 

And,  as  she  muttered,  the  trap  opened. 

"  You  may  come  above,"  said  Gervaise's 
voice. 

We  climbed  to  a  small,  bare  room,  like 
those  in  peasant  cottages  of  the  better  class 
in  that  province.  Glancing  through  the 
small-paned  windows,  I  saw  in  the  mist  and 
the  scurrying  rain  the  trees  bending,  and 
the  outline  of  the  northern  tower  of  Grand 
Mai.  I  thought  that  we  were  in  the 
park,  at  the  side  from  which  I  had  ap- 
proached the  Chateau.  Gervaise  was  lean- 
ing out  of  the  window  on  this  side.  By 
the  single  door  of  the  room  was  an  old 
man  in  a  frayed  shooting-coat.  Once  he 
must  have  been  powerful ;  and  now,  bent 
and  shrivelled  as  he  was,  his  head  almost 
touched  the  ceiling  of  the  little  room. 
He  doffed  his  hat  as  I  stepped  from  the 
ladder. 

*'  My  lord,  every  part  of  the  forest  seems 


42  THREE   WORTHIES. 

to  be  filled  with  soldiers  and  people.  How 
is  it,  Monsieur  Dumont  ?  " 

Dumont  turned  his  head,  until  I  saw  his 
face  more  distinctly  than  before.  Again  its 
keen  craftiness  startled  me. 

"  We  will  wait  a  few  minutes,  a "  and 

he  closed  the  shutter.  Louise  Bourgot  was 
facing  the  others ;  and  I  saw  her  comely 
face  showing  traces  of  tears  in  a  redness  of 
the  eyelids. 

'*  You  will  come  back,  as  you  promised?" 
I  heard  her  say. 

"It  may  be,  Mademoiselle  Louise;  it 
may  be."     He  ended  with  a  low  whistle. 

She  drew  toward  him,  like  a  hound  which 
fawns  under  a  master's  blows. 

"  It  must  be,"  she  said  ;  "  after  all  I  have 
risked  for  you.     Yes,  it  must  be." 

Gervaisc  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"What  must  be,  must  be  !  Pestc,  Made- 
moiselle, I  must  get  away,  or  my  head  is  in 
a  noose  ! " 

"Or  a  musket-ball  is  in  your  heart,  if  I 


VICOMTE   DE    SAINT-DERNIER.  43 

should  wish.  It  might  be ; — yes,  it  might 
be." 

"■  Mon  Dieu  !  "  said  Gervaise,  '*  of  course 
I  will  keep  my  part  of  the  contract.  But 
this  bores  Monsieur." 

The  old  man,  in  the  meanwhile,  had  been 
watching  the  two.  He  smiled  grotesquely, 
and  again  trembled,  for  his  nervousness  and 
irresolution  were  displayed  in  every  line  of 
the  figure. 

"  I — we,  Louise  there, — are  risking  a  great 
deal  for  you  and  for  France." 

"  I  certainly  will  remember,  my  friend." 

"  If  I  only  could  see  Philippe  returning 
from  the  war — from  Berlin  perhaps,  I  should 
not  care,"  he  muttered,  rubbing  his  wrinkled, 
bony  hands  together. 

* '  You  do  not  all  together  risk  as  much  as 
I,  who  have  been  posing  as  a  spy  ;  cold 
lead  for  me,"  said  Gervaise,  striding  like 
some  wild  creature.  Then,  with  the  tender- 
ness of  her  sex  toward  a  loved  one,  the  little, 
fair  woman,  hardly  more  than  a  girl,  moaned : 


44  THREE  WORTHIES. 

"You  must  escape — you  must.  Oh,  for- 
give me,  Monsieur  Gervaise  !  " 

Not  regarding  her,  his  hand  suddenly  was 
on  my  shoulder. 

**  Monsieur,  the  risk  must  be  taken  ;  we 
will  go  out  of  the  window." 

Louise  Bourgot  threw  her  arms  about  Ger- 
vaise's  neck  with  a  wild  cry:  "They  are 
here,  oh,  Monsieur  Gervaise  !  " 

I  saw  him  fling  her  away  from  him,  as  sud- 
denly a  head  projected  through  the  open 
trap  ;  then  another  ;  and  the  door  was  thrown 
back,  and  against  the  green  was  the  red  of 
the  Prussian  infantry  uniform,  while  at  the 
instant  two  heads  reached  up  from  the  open 
trap.  I  saw  the  Alsacian  girl  shrinking  in 
the  corner  ;  the  forester's  startled  face  ;  Ger- 
vaise edging  towards  the  farther  window  ; 
the  gray-bearded  and  weather-colored  face  of 
the  Graf  ;  the  bare  walls  of  the  room.  The 
scene  in  that  second  was  fixed  as  on  a  camera 
through  the  drop  of  an  instantaneous  shutter. 
Then  a   new   figure  was  projected   od.  the 


VICOMTE   DE   SAINT-DERNIER.  45 

plate,  and  in  my  ears  was  the  wind  and  the 
galloping  of  a  horse,  and  at  the  Graf's 
shoulder  was  Claire  Louvois,  a  flushed  face 
displaying  her  excitement. 

"The  message  of  the  Prince,"  muttered 
Dumont. 

And,  speaking,  his  arm  raised  under  my 
shoulder ;  a  flash  ;  the  Graf  tottering  over  ;  a 
report ;  and  Mademoiselle's  scream  as  she 
leaned  toward  her  uncle. 

"  The  message.  Monsieur,"  and  he  pulled 
me  with  him.  I  was  like  a  man  in  a  fright- 
ful trance  ;  the  scene  with  the  attitudes  of 
figures  changed  about  shone  on  my  mind, 
like  one  of  those  tableaux  with  which  the 
acts  may  end  in  melodramas.  It  was  a  mat- 
ter of  a  second  from  the  first  interruption  to 
the  catastrophe.  In  that  second  I  saw  the 
two  pictures  :  the  startled  attitudes  and  expres- 
sions of  all  in  the  room  ;  the  soldiers  spring- 
ing forward,  some  toward  us,  others  toward 
the  Graf  ;  but  chiefly  it  was  Claire's  agon- 
ized face.     Even  in  the  trance  I  was  horror- 


46  THREE   WORTHIES. 

Struck.  How  that  horror  oppressed  me  in 
the  long  hours  and  days  that  were  to  follow  ! 
Yet  for  all  the  horror,  taking  advantage  of 
the  confusion,  with  Gervaise's  muttered 
"The  Prince"  in  my  ears,  I  leaped  with 
him  through  the  window,  the  memory  of 
that  scene  following.  As  we  went  wildly 
over  the  uneven  ground,  shots  and  wild  hello 
pursuing,  Gervaise  leading,  the  storm  beat- 
ing about,  I  felt  the  sickness  of  heart  and 
will  which  almost  is  the  worst.  During  the 
whole  morning  I  had  been  like  some  au- 
tomaton, nor  yet  had   I  wakened. 

The  events  following  the  leap  from  the 
window  of  the  forester's  cottage  are  a 
confused  blur :  the  violent  wind  and 
scurrying  rain  ;  rapid  voices  and  shots  ;  of 
a  sudden  detour  to  the  right  and  then  to 
the  left  at  the  heels  of  my  quondam  orderly  ; 
of  Claire  Louvois'  face  ;  and  then  we  had 
plunged  into  a  thicket,  beyond  which  the 
pursuit  bore.  As  it  lessened  in  the  distance, 
beating  the  bushes,  but,   by  some  miracle. 


VICOMTE   DE    SAINT-DERNIER.  47 

overlooking  our  hiding-place,  Gervaise  per- 
formed a  manoeuvre  worthy  a  general. 

"Is  it  still,  Monsieur?"  he  whispered,  as 
if  not  trusting  his  own  senses. 

"We  must  risk  it,"  he  whispered  again. 
"We  never  can  get  away  without  hiding.  It 
is  a  great  risk,  but  a  greater  one  to  keep  on." 

As  I  followed  cautiously  toward  the  for- 
ester's house,  through  the  bushes  and  under- 
growth, now  into  a  grassy  glade  between  the 
high  trees,  where  at  any  instant  we  might  be 
observed,  he  turned  to  me  again  over  his 
shoulder.  "  It  will  be  a  miracle  if  we  are 
not  caught." 

"A  devil's  miracle,"  cried  I. 

"  Not  so  loud.  Hist!"  For  he  had  been 
turning  back  to  the  house  on  the  theory  that 
the  place  would  be  abandoned  and  that  this 
would  be  the  last  spot  where  we  should  be 
sought ;  and  indeed  the  sequel  sustained  the 
daring  theory.  The  bushes  ran  almost  up  to 
a  little  back  window.  Trying  this,  Gervaise 
turned  about. 


48  THREE  WORTHIES. 

**  Alon  Dieii,  it  is  closed,"  he  said.  "  Who 
may  be  in  there?" 

As  he  spoke  came  the  sound  of  wheels. 
It  was  I,  who  leaping  back  from  the  window 
threw  myself  on  my  face  in  the  long  weeds, 
and  he  followed  this  time. 

"  Lie  close,"  I  said ;  and  our  position 
having  now  changed  quite,  he  nodded.  From 
my  place  in  the  tall  grass  I  could  see  a  turn 
in  the  road,  about  which  an  ambulance 
drew ;  as  it  passed,  the  fearful  possibility 
sickened  me  ;  and  there  followed  a  rage  at 
Gerv'aise,  whose  shoulder  I  twisted. 

"  Look  you,  fool,  you  devil's  fool !  " 

"  Monsieur,  you  will  crush  the  flesh,"  he 
whispered  with  shrill  distinctness.  But  I 
only  held  him  tighter,  and  I  felt  my  own 
panting  gasps. 

"  You  understand  the  meaning  of  that, 
you  understand."  My  hands  held  his  throat, 
and  we  rolled  over  together,  now  he  under, 
again  I  above.  In  that  silent  WTCStle, 
though  he   was   a  wiry  man,    I    soon    had 


YICOMTE    DE   SAINT-DERNIER.  49 

the  better.  His  face  was  black  from  my 
grasp. 

"I  will  kill  you,  kill  you,  you  wretch!  " 

The  evil  lines  of  his  face  were  marked  dis- 
tinctly, and  I  saw  into  a  craven  soul,  though 
he  never  was  physically  a  coward.  I  do  not 
know  what  had  possessed  me  at  first,  but 
suddenly  I  thought  that  I  was  soiling  myself 
with  this  method  of  punishment.  For  an 
instant  he  gasped  ;  .the  natural  color  returned 
to  his  black  face. 

"  You  will  kill  me?" 

"  I  might  have  committed  a  crime  because 
of  yours,"  I  said,  disregarding  him.  "  But 
now  you  shall  live.  If  we  escape  you  shall 
have  the  price,  the  glory,  of  it.  But  I  shall 
wash  my  hands  of  you. 

Suddenly,  his  black  evil  eyes  gleaming,  his 
face  wet  with  rain  and  stained  with  mud,  he 
raised  himself. 

"What  a  risk?" 

And  I  answered,  leaping  up  boldly,  "At 
least  now  that  you  have  done  so  much  for  it, 
4 


50  THREE   WORTHIES. 

I  will  do  the  utmost  to  carry  out  the  plan. 
I  have  lost  all  through  you  ;  but  now  certain- 
ly the  message  shall  be  delivered  if  our 
efforts  count." 

Accepting  his  manoeuvre,  and  noting  now, 
with  senses  alert,  that  our  strange  wrestle 
while  fleeing  for  our  lives  had  not  been 
observed — to  all  appearances  at  least, — I 
stole  toward  the  open  window  through  which 
we  had  leaped  a  half  hour  since.  The  storm 
still  was  at  its  height ;  not  a  living  creature 
seemed  to  be  stiring,  and  looking  through 
the  opened  window  there  appeared  to  be 
nobody  within.  Leaping  in,  Gervaise  after, 
I  pulled  the  shutters  together. 

**  The  cellar  is  the  place  to  wait  until  the 
darkness,"  I  said,  moving  toward  the  trap. 

"What  was  that?"  questioned  Gervaise 
on  tiptoe.  The  noise  of  cantering  horses 
answered  the  question. 

"  If "  he  began,    trembling,    for   his 

hand  was  pushed  against  my  shoulder.  But 
the  horses  bore  away. 


VICOMTE    DE   SAINT-DERNIER.  5 1 

*'  del"  he  cried  again,  as  he  stumbled 
over  something  near  the  opened  trap.  I, 
too, was  startled,  for  a  mass  of  something — 
a  woman — sprang  up  almost  from  under 
Gervaise's  feet. 

"  You  are  not  ghosts  ?     You  are  alive  ?  " 

I  heard  her  kisses  on  Gervaise's  face. 

"  Heaven  has  kept  you  here  for  us,  Made- 
moiselle Louise,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  Monsieur  Gervaise,  Monsieur  Ger- 
vaise  !     But  quick,  into  the  cellar  !  " 

\Ve  three  crept  down  the  ladder  into  the 
cellar  below. 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  are  here,"  began 
Louise,  with  trembling  voice,  "if  no  one 
has  seen  you  !  Oh,  why  did  I  ever  undertake 
it?" 

"  Would  that  you  never  had,"  I  muttered. 

"  But  I  did  it  for  him,  Monsieur,  for  your 
Gervaise  Dumont.  Yet, — I  ought  to  have 
died.  I  longed  to  be  dead  when  I  saw  it 
happen,  when  Monsieur  the  General  fell, 
and  you  escaped,  and  they  all  rushed  about, 


52  THREE   WORTHIES. 

and  our  dear  lady  lay  there  still,  only  for  her 
weeping.     It  was  awful !  "  she  moaned. 

"But  the  General?"  I  asked,  while 
my  question  echoed  hollowly  throughout  my 
whole  being. 

"  God  forgive  us!  "  she  answered,  dropping 
her  eyes. 

"  God  indeed  pity  me,"  I  muttered,  for  it 
was  of  Claire  Louvois  I  thought. 

* '  When  they  took  him  away,  they  carried 
old  Alphonse  a  prisoner.  They  had  no  time 
to  think  of  me  then  ;  and  I  was  left  here 
alone,  thinking  that  you  might  be  dead,  that 
all  of  the  sorrow  had  beerl  made  for  nothing. 
Yet  you  are  here." 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  girl,"  I  heard  Gervaise 
say. 

"  Foolish,  foolish?  After  all  I  have  done? 
Oh,  what  is  left  now  ?  I  will  pray  to  the 
Virgin." 

"Yes,  I  meant  foolish,  exactly.  Oh,  do 
not  take  on,"  continued  Gervaise  Dumont. 
"  You  surely  do  not  wish  us  to  be  caught. 


VICOMTE   DE    SAINT-DERXIER.  53 

Get  us  a  horse  and  a  guide  to  start  after 
nightfall — the  same  plan,  only  postponed. 
Yet  I  do  not  know  what  we  may  do  for  a 
guide  ?  " 

"  And  you  are  going  ?  What  may  I  have 
left?  What, — but  you  must  be  saved,"  she 
ended  with  sudden,  almost  savage,  energy. 
"  My  little  brother  Claude  (I  can  do  any- 
thing M'ith  him,  Monsieur  Gervaise)  can  steal 
the  horses.  I  will  see  him  ;  only  do  you  stay 
still." 

I  lost  her  voice  here,  for  she  whispered 
low  to  Dumont.  Then,  mounting  the  lad- 
der, she  closed  the  trap  softly.  We  heard 
her  moving  above,  and  again  the  trap 
opened. 

"  Monsieur  Gervaise  ?  " 

"Yes,  little  one." 

"  Here  is  bread  and  wine  from  Alphonse's 
larder.     You  must  not  starve." 

Gervaise  took  the  things  from  her  at  the 
top  of  the  ladder.  As  he  turned  to  descend, 
she  leaned  toward  him. 


54  THREE   WORTHIES. 

*'  Monsieur  Gervaise  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  have  risked  much  for  you." 

"Thank  you,  little  one." 

"Only  that, — only   thanks!     I  will " 

But  she  paused.  "  Yet  I  will  save  your  life 
if  you  will  swear  that,  the  war  over,  you  will 
come  again  to  Grand  Mai." 

"  Of  course,  I  swear  it." 

"  Yet  what  does  that  mean  ?"  I  saw  her 
sad  face  ;  very  different  from  what  it  had 
been  when  she  had  stumbled  before  me  in 
the  corridor  of  the  Chateau  ;  it  was  as  if  the 
wrinkles  of  the  future  were  hastening  to 
force  a  claim  to  a  fresh  complexion. 

"  I  do  not  believe  your  oaths  ;  yet  I  will 
save  you,"  she  said. 

The  trap  closed  again,  and  we  heard  her 
no  more. 

"  Oaths  are  easy,  Monsieur,"  said  Gervaise, 
munching  the  bread. 

"  It  only  becomes  a  devil  to  speak  so  of  a 
woman  who  risks  everything." 


VICOMTE    DE    SAINT-DERNIER.  55 

"It  may  become  Monsieur  to  belittle  a 
faithful  service." 

"  Do  not  talk  to  me.  You  are  unendura- 
ble enough.  Remember  that  I  have  not 
killed  you." 

"  jSIonsieur,  I  remember  a  certain  morning 
in  the  Palais  Royale  when  you  saved  me  from 
despair, — and, — and,  oh, — I  am  still  your 
servant." 

'  *  ^\'^lat  despair  can  possess  a  soul  like 
yours  ?  " 

"Ah,  you  do  not  know  human  nature," 
he  cried  bitterly.  "You  do  not  know  how 
one  is  forced  from  good  to  evil,  till  the  evil 
rules.     I  am  talking  like  a  priest." 

"Gervaise,"  I  said  in  answer,  "  I  do  not 
know  of  the  struggles  which  have  made  you 
what  you  are  ;  but  I  know  now  that  you  are 
a  wicked,  despicable  scoundrel." 

But  as  he  did  not  answer,  silence  again 
possessed  the  place.  At  one  side  I  noted  the 
dark  opening  of  the  passage  through  which 
we  had  come. 


56  THREE  WORTHIES. 

"  How  did  it  happen  that  you  had  the  de- 
coy despatch?"  I  questioned  suddenly. 

"  Because  I  anticipated  that  we  might  be 
captured  ;  because " 

"And  the  paper  and  the  seal  of  the 
Prince  ? " 

"  There  are  spies,  Monsieur,  that  you  do 
not  dream  of." 

' '  And  you  are  one  ?  " 

"I  was  one,"  he  assented  gravely.  "I 
do  not  hesitate  to  tell,  because  this  service 
may  pardon  me. " 

"Rascal,  I  have  again  a  mind  to  shoot 
you.     Why  did  you  let  me  be  betrayed  ?  " 

"  That  I  could  not  avoid."  After  a  pause 
he  began  again  :  "  Monsieur,  I  like  you  as 
I  like  no  man.  Will  you  believe  that  I  have 
served  you  like  a  dog?  May  that  pardon 
me?  My  profession,  before  I  knew  you 
even,  was  that  of  the  secret  service.  Mon- 
sieur, may  I  be  pardoned  ?  " 

I  was  walking  up  and  down  the  uneven 
floor. 


VICOMTE   DE   SAINT-DERNIER.  57 

"It  shall  be  judged  whether  your  service 

merits    that.      But "     I    saw    suddenly 

how  important  it  was  to  keep  his  good- 
nature for  the  delivery  of  the  message  of  the 
Prince.  "  Gervaise,"  I  ended,  "you  may 
have  risked  much  for  me  and  my  message. 
Your  zeal  has  cost  me  my  happiness  proba- 
bly— has  indeed  made  me  accessory  to  a 
crime.  Yet  I  cannot  forget  how  much  you 
have  risked." 

"  Monsieur,"  he  said,  seeing  an  advan- 
tage, "I  never  have  known  you  to  violate 
your  word." 

As  we  waited  in  that  dismal  cellar,  he 
seemed  to  me  like  some  baleful  spirit  of 
which  I  longed  to  be  rid,  yet  could  not. 
For  he  was  necessary  to  the  fulfilment  of  the 
duty  for  which  I  had  given  so  much. 
I  think  we  said  no  more  ;  but  his  presence, 
hateful,  dreadful,  was  louder  than  words. 
Once  we  heard  some  one  enter  the  house, 
walk  about  ;  and  then  again  only  the  patter- 
ing rain,  which,  too,  stopped.     So  hour  after 


58  THREE   WORTHIES. 

hour  passed.  If  the  damp  of  the  place 
chilled,  the  man  haunted  me  like  a  personi- 
fication of  remorse.  At  last  the  trap  opened, 
and  Louise  Bourgot,  of  whose  reappearance 
I  had  despaired,  called  : 

"  Come  up,  if  you  are  there." 

The  room  upon  which  the  trap  opened 
now  was  quite  as  dark  as  the  cellar  below. 
I  saw  through  the  window  a  star,  and  the 
wind  had  gone  with  the  storm. 

"  It  has  been  hard  to  do  it.  But  Claude 
now  is  waiting  with  the  horses.  It  may  be, 
indeed,  that  I  am  watched."  She  moved 
before,  out  of  the  cottage  into  the  stillness  of 
the  park.  First  we  struck  the  muddy  ruts 
of  the  road,  and  thence  a  narrow  lane. 

"Claude?" 

"Yes,  Louise." 

We  saw  some  one  standing  by  two  horses. 

"  My  Lord,"  he  said,  coming  toward  me, 
a  little  jaunty,  servitor  Style  of  boy,  '*  my 
Lord,  I  am  willing  to  guide  you  ;  but  in 
return  I  must  ask  a  reward  of  you." 


VICOMTE   DE    SAINT-DERNIER.  59 

"Money,  or  anything." 

'*  I  only  wish  your  word,"  he  said,-  "  that 
you  will  take  me  into  your  service, — an  easy 
matter  certainly.  I  may  not  dare  to  return  to 
Grand  Mai  again,whatever  the  result  may  be." 

"A  lad  brave  enough  to  guide  two  fugi- 
tives over  the  dangerous  roads  need  not  ask 
a  second  time,"  I  declared,  for  I  liked  some- 
thing of  daring  in  his  tone. 

*'  Farewell,  farewell,"  I  heard  Louise 
Bourgot's  sad  voice. 

**  Ah,  only  an  revoir,  Mademoiselle,"  said 
Ger\'aise. 

"But  where  is  your  horse,  my  boy?" 
I  asked  the  little  fellow. 

He  laughed  and  courtesied.  "  I  shall  run 
easily  by  your  side,"  he  said. 

*'  Claude,"  said  the  girl,  and  her  voice  was 
stifled  with  sobs,  "  you  are  going  too  ?  " 

"  Into  the  great  world,  Louise,  with  My 
Lord  Vicomte, — the  great  world"  ;  and  I 
almost  felt  the  warmth  of  the  peasant's 
enthusiasm. 


6o  THREE  WORTHIES. 

**  Monsieur  Gervaise,  I  have  done  a  great 
deal  for  you — for  you. " 

But  it  was  I  who  took  her  hand. 

"  I,  at  least,  shall  not  forget  your  service." 

"Hurry,  my  Lord, — Monsieur  Gervaise! 
Careful,  Claude  ! " 

We  left  her  in  the  narrow  lane  up  which 
the  boy  led. 

"  This  is  the  most  dangerous  of  the  way  ; 
but  I  know  the  by-paths." 

"What  is  the  time?" 

"About  eleven." 

After  plodding  up  a  long  hill,  he  stopped, 
pointing  toward  a  lighting  horizon. 

"  The  moon,  and  the  Chateau,"  he  said. 

There  against  the  sky  were  the  towers 
of  Grand  Mai,  which  had  seen  so  much 
happen  in  the  past,  and  so  much,  too,  in 
my  life. 

"Farewell  to  Grand  Mai,"  muttered  the 
boy,  "  and  welcome  to  the  world." 

"  It  is  a  sad  enough  place,"  I  muttered. 

"  But  I  want  it,  sadness  and  all, "  he  cried. 


VICOMTE   DE   SAINT-DERMER.  6 1 

Following  those  sodden  paths,  Gervaise 
said  little  ;  nor  indeed  did  I  care  to  hear 
from  him,  and  shrank  from  him,  who,  evilly, 
had  induced  me  to  follow  duty  at  the  cost  of 
self-respect  and  love.  As  our  horses  v.-ent 
on  heavily,  I  was  not  sure  that  it  would  not 
have  been  better  to  have  surrendered,  to 
have  shown  at  least  innocence  of  the  intent 
of  the  crime.  The  clouds  now  hid  the 
moon  ;  again  it  was  swimming  in  a  bluish 
abyss,  with  the  blackness  all  about.  Yet 
I  kept  repeating  to  strengthen  myself  ; — be- 
cause one  has  fallen  into  fault,  is  this  reason 
for  the  commission  of  another?  Certainly 
the  message  of  the  Prince  should  be  fulfilled. 

Occasionally  a  distant  light  glimmered  ; 
then  we  might  pass  a  solitary  wayfarer  ;  but 
for  a  long  time  we  followed  the  way  in 
comparative  silence. 

The  boy's  hand  pressed  my  arm,  for  he 
had  caught  the  sound  of  wheels  moving 
heavily  ;  and  a  lantern  gleamed  about  a 
turn.     A   man   went    before    swinging    the 


62  THREE  WORTHIES. 

light  ;  a  boy  urged  the  laboring  horses. 
Without  a  single  curious  glance  toward  us, 
these  were  gone.  Finally  the  darkness  be- 
gan to  lift,  and  to  be  lost  in  grayness  ;  the 
moon  was  fading  ;  presently  the  hills  flushed 
in  outline,  clearing  against  the  sky.  We 
were  by  a  river,  whence  a  fog  was  rising. 
A  lark's  cry,  carried  over  the  slopes,  im- 
pressing me  wearily  ;  time  passing,  so  intense 
was  my  preoccupation,  with  extraordinary 
swiftness.  Presently  the  day  was  declared  ; 
the  low  vineyard-clad  hills  ;  a  stirring  of 
women  and  old  men,  for  others  were  in  the 
armies  ;  and  over  that  scene  the  sunrise  lay. 
The  mists  appeared  to  reach  upward  from 
the  lowlands,  as  if  drawn  by  the  sun,  and 
presently  we  were  in  thick,  almost  impene- 
trable fog. 

"  You  are  nearly  there,"  said  the  boy,  still 
plodding  on,  as  if  his  muscles  were  of  iron. 
"  We  have  wonderful  luck." 

Ger\-aise  yawned.  "  del,  it  is  damp,"  he 
muttered. 


VICOMTE   DE    SAIXT-DERNIER.  63 

I,  on  my  part,  was  wondering  what  lay 
behind  that  thick  veil.  A  sudden  challenge 
rang  out.  It  was  in  French,  and  I  knew 
that  we  were  at  our  mission's  end  ;  and  that, 
whatever  may  have  happened  within  the  last 
three  days,  I  again  was  within  French  lines, 
— that  my  message  had  been  fulfilled. 

"  Monsieur  Saint-Dernier  must  see  the 
General  at  this  early  hour  ?  " 

*' Yes,  it  is  necessary." 

A  few  moments  later  I  was  in  the  General's 
quarters.     My  man,  Dumont,  I  left  outside. 

Carefully  I  went  over  with  the  Prince's 
plan,  detail  by  detail,  as  I  knew  it.  Some- 
thing on  the  old  man's  face  appalled  me. 

"Yes,  it  is  a  stroke  of  genius  !  But  it  is 
too  late — too  late.  Ah,  Monsieur,  you  are 
ill — you  are  ashen  pale.  It  has  been  a  hard 
ride  ;  you  deserve  the  greatest  praise." 

*'  Not  I,"  I  said,  pushing  back  the  door. 
"It  is  this  fellow  who  should  gain  the 
reward."  And  I  pointed  to  my  orderly, 
Gervaise  Dumont. 


64  THREE   WORTHIES. 

And  then  the  room  swam  ;  for  the  second 
time  in  that  week  I  yielded  to  a  faintness, 
and,  the  message  fulfilled,  lost  consciousness. 

The  fever,  they  said,  must  have  been  in 
the  system  for  months  ;  but  I  knew  that  the 
single  day  had  been  the  provoking  cause,  or 
Herr  Von  Hohenstein's  blow  in  the  forest 
near  Grand  I\Ial  may  have  had  physical 
after-effect. 


So  my  imprisonment  at  Grand  Mai  ended. 
Excepting  for  the  once,  when  1  followed 
Gervaise  Dumont,  I  do  not  know  that  I  have 
been  lacking  in  the  will  to  act  for  myself, 
and  now  I  think,  the  body  being  close  with 
the  brain  (and  I  have  believed  it  sometimes 
to  be  the  all),  that  the  fever  had  the  mind 
subjugating  and  controlling.  We  never  are 
twice  alike,  they  tell  us ;  no  two  moods  are 
perfect  counterparts  ;  surely  I  never  was  nor 
have  been  as  on  the  day  of  the  escape  from 
Grand  Mai.     This  was  not  peculiar,  because 


VICOMTE    DE    SAINT-DERNIER.  65 

of  my  wish  to  carry  out  the  message  of  the 
Prince ;  yet  now  I  know,  while  I  never 
would  have  yielded  any  reasonable  chance 
of  carrying  my  mission  to  fulfilment,  I  again 
would  not  risk  happiness.  When  I  lay  toss- 
ing with  the  fever,  when  the  message  had 
been  delivered,  and  after  I  had  found  that 
this  privation,  like  so  much  else,  was  vain,  I 
saw  cleariy  only  the  one  course  :  to  return  to 
Grand  Mai  and  to  see  Mademoiselle  Lou- 
vois — of  little  avail  though  this  might  be, — 
that  she  might  know  that  at  least  I  was  not 
unfeeling  ;  then  indeed  I  should  have  done 
all  one  may  do  after  a  mistaken  act.  This 
purpose  had  been  before  me  during  the  ride 
from  Grand  Mai  ;  but  that  night,  with  de- 
lirious images  trooping  through  the  disorder 
of  the  brain,  it  took  the  shape  of  resolve, 
which  I  put  into  form.  In  the  delirium,  I 
think  this  purpose  alone  was  like  sanity. 
I  fancied  Dumont,  with  a  human  mask 
which,  with  a  leer,  he  doffed,  showing  the 
countenance  of  Mephistopheles,  a  tempter 
5 


66  THREE  WORTHIES. 

with  whom  we  go  arm  and  arm,  not  once 
suspecting  our  comrade  to  be  Sin  till  some 
crime,  when  the  evil  of  the  face  penetrates 
the  mask  ;  and  again,  this  was  Mademoiselle 
Louvois,  sweet,  reproachful,  on  an  inacces- 
sible peak,  toward  which  I  toiled,  slipping, 
with  every  step  lost  the  length  of  the  one 
taken  ;  or  it  might  be  the  Graf,  turning  an 
imploring  face  to  mine,  while  I  relentlessly 
thrust  a  knife  into  his  bosom,  or  shot  him 
down.  At  last  I  fell  into  feverish,  disturbed 
slumber  ;  or  I  was  awake,  with  the  resolution 
to  throw  aside  this  disorder  of  brain,  this 
feverishness  of  the  blood,  and  to  act ;  or  it 
might  be — the  conceit  carried  on — I  was  in 
camp,  or  the  skirmish,  with  active  flitting 
figures  surrounding, — the  scent  of  powder, 
the  roar  of  cannon. 

Finally,  the  phantasmagoria  and  the  fever 
passed  ;  after  many  days,  during  which  were 
skirmishes  and  battles,  Gravelotte  and  Sedan, 
and  the  inevitableness  of  the  Prussian  triumph. 
Long  before  I  was  myself  again,  the  Prince, 


VICOMTE   DE    SAINT-DERNIER.  67 

unaided,  had  been  forced  to  surrender  ;  and 
the  cleverness  and  knowledge  which,  acted 
upon,  might  have  proven  not  without  im- 
portant, valuable  result,  unsustained,  could 
act  no  longer  for  France.  I  myself,  in  that 
improvised  hospital  at  the  inn  of  the  village, 
where  I  was,  passed  from  the  possession  of 
French  to  that  of  the  Prussians,  and  again  to 
the  French.  Those  with  me  when  I  had 
succumbed  to  the  illness  (which  had  been 
advancing  upon  me  probably  for  weeks) 
were  scattered  ;  my  little  escort,  the  sturdy 
lad  from  Grand  Mai,  had  been  killed  in  the 
skirmishes,  they  told  me  ;  nor  did  I  see 
or  find  trace  of  the  man,  Gervaise  Dumont. 
Once  again,  by  the  strangest  coincidence, 
was  I  to  have  recalled  the  face  which  haunted 
me  as  if  it  were  that  of  some  demon — a  dis- 
turbed image  on  a  fevered  brain.  When  I 
was  strong  enough,  the  Sister  of  the  Red 
Cross,  whose  kindly,  patient  face  had  be- 
come as  familiar  as  the  figures  of  the  paper 
on  the  walls,  the  square  panes  of  the  win- 


68  THREE   WORTHIES. 

dows,  brought  pen  and  ink,  and  then,  with 
clear  brain,  I  wrote  to  the  woman  I  loved, 
and  whom  I  had  lost. 

Long  after,  with  the  army  of  the  Loire, 
Felix  Latoon  (Captain  Latoon,  of  the  Hus- 
sars) was  riding  with  me,  as  I  remember,  when 
the  answer  was  brought.  I  trembled  in  my 
stirrups  when  I  saw  the  hand,  and,  while  the 
bullets  whizzed  about,  I  broke  the  seal. 
Very  formally  the  little  note  ran  : 

**I  do  not  know  the  justification  of  your 
shot  at  my  uncle.  But  I  am  happy  to  tell 
you  that  it  was  not  a  serious  wound  ;  and 
yesterday  I  had  a  letter  from  him  at  Ver- 
sailles, where  he  has  been  with  the  Emperor 
Wilhelm.     I  do  not " 

I  caught  my  breath  in  thick  gasps. 

"What  is  the  matter,  man?"  cried  the 
gay  little  Felix  Latoon. 

"  The  best  news  in  the  world — the  very 
best  indeed."  The  whizzing  bullets  sud- 
denly stopped,  for  the  skirmish  was  bearing 
away. 


VICOMTE   DE    SAINT-DERXIER.  6q 

**  To  read  a  letter  at  such  a  time,  I  should 
say  so,"  said  the  Comte  de  Latoon.  "A 
woman  probably,  a " 

But  he  was  galloping.  A  half  hour  later 
I  was  studying  the  letter  where  I  had 
stopped. 

"I  do  not  doubt,"  it  ran  further,  "all 
that  you  say — to  doubt  would  indeed  be 
cruel.  But  I  think  I  understand  you  ;  the 
things  we  said  at  Grand  !Mal  together  were 
ill-timed,  and  without  consideration.  Nor 
do  I  think.  Monsieur  Saint-Dernier,  that 
any  occasion  can  call  for  further  letters  or 
communication." 

So  it  ended,  leaving  me,  since  the  Graf 
von  Beyreuth  was  not  dead,  with  a  lighter 
heart ;  and  I  thought  that  Mademoiselle 
Louvois*  condemnation  was  only  just. 

Then  we  were  about  the  Loire,  and  I  was 
proving  myself  not  unworthy  altogether  of 
the  military  reputation  which  my  family  had 
gained.  For  my  cousin,  the  Bishop  of  Mo- 
naco, took  occasion  to  congratulate  me  on 


•JO  THREE   WORTHIES. 

being  more  Frenchman  than  Bonapartist. 
Others  have  censured  me  for  this  very  thing  ; 
they  are  those  who  would  have  a  man  a  par- 
tisan, however  he  may  hold  his  opinion.  I 
think  differently — that  in  politics,  as  in  ordi- 
nary matters,  one  should  follow  his  own 
judgment,  rather  than  an  inefficient  or  opin- 
ionated or  knavish  leader  to  error.  As  you 
know,  I  have  no  endurance  of  this  republic 
and  its  gods  ;  but  I  do  not  lose  my  patriotism 
nor  loyalty  to  France  on  that  account.  And 
the  Prince  Imperial  has  perished  in  Zulu- 
land  !  Antoine,  my  cousin,  the  Bishop  of 
Monaco,  knows  the  world,  and  he  was  right 
— that  a  course  of  action,  dictated  by  the 
best  and  most  honest  judgment  one  may 
possess,  is  a  finer  light  than  any  other. 

Shortly,  that  night,  Felix  Latoon  and  I 
were  again  together. 

'*  You  were  right,"  I  said,  as  he  rolled 
a  cigarette,  "  the  letter  was  from  a  woman." 

"Ah,  I  knew  it,"  he  began. 

"  Stop,"  I  said,  "  that  is  over." 


VICOMTE   DE    SAINT-DERNIER.  71 

And  we  heard  the  chatter  of  some  sutlers 
not  far  away.  The  message  of  the  Prince 
had  been  of  no  avail,  had  ruined  my  happi- 
ness. No,  I  was  wrong.  It  was  Gervaise 
Dumont  ;  and  again  the  fellow's  keen,  eager 
face  was  before  me. 

"  Moji  Dieti^  this  tobacco  !  "  said  Captain 
Latoon,  throwing  aside  an  ineffectual  ciga- 
rette. 

So  the  matter  paused  ;  yet  with  conse- 
quences. When  the  affair  of  '70  came  to  be 
in  retrospect,  somebody  told  of  the  idea  of 
the  Prince,  and  all  saw  the  clear  head  and 
fair  judgment.  Of  course,  then,  was  dispute, 
and  particulars.  At  a  dinner  in  Florence 
the  Prince  himself  told  the  story  ;  and  he 
mentioned  the  officer  of  his  staff  who  had 
volunteered  to  carry  the  message  of  particu- 
lars. So  one  day  I  came  to  Paris,  where 
now  some  sort  of  a  government  had  followed 
the  disorder,  to  find  myself  rather  of  a 
celebrity,  apart  from  any  connection  which 
I  had  had  later  with  the  army  of  the  Loire. 


72  THREE   WORTHIES. 

I  hate  nothing  more  than  the  tongue  of  gos- 
sip,— nor  indeed  does  anything  more  distort 
the  truth  than  a  certain  publicity  ;  yet  in 
this  I  found,  as  you  shall  see,  a  recompense  ; 
and  indeed  whatever  the  Prince,  one  of  the 
noblest  of  his  time,  ever  may  have  done  for 
me,  has  rebounded  in  the  end  to  my  profit. 

Now,  it  chanced  one  afternoon  I  had 
stopped  at  the  Cafe  Americain,  where  I  saw 
the  same  Chantillon  who  had  been  my  com- 
rade in  many  of  the  escapades  of  earlier 
youth  ;  sitting  there  we  went  over  with  our 
acquaintances,  one  by  one  ;  and  he  it  was 
who  told  me  between  puffs  of  smoke  that 
de  Montban  was  to  marr}'. 

Then  a  dapper  fellow  questioned  ;  I,  not 
thinking  that  this  mattered  greatly  to  me,  till 
Chantillon  said: 

"  To  Mademoiselle  Louvois." 

And  instantly  I  was  strangely  agitated. 
Leaving  the  place,  I  walked  into  the  crowd, 
where,  calling  a  fiacre,  I  went  to  the  Hotel 
Saint-Dernier.     Yet,  argue  as  I  would,  this 


VICOMTE   DE    SAINT-DERNIER.  73 

indeed  only  was  a  just  desert  for  that  which 
I  had  done. 

Now,  shortly  after,  I  was  on  the  terrace  at 
Saint-Germain-en-Laye,  where  I  was  wait- 
ing for  the  train ;  and  beneath  was  the 
prospect  of  village  and  plain,  and,  farther, 
the  smoke  above  Paris.  Suddenly  I  saw  a 
lady  walking  by  the  railing,  while,  a  short 
distance  beyond,  a  groom  led  two  horses. 
Two  years  had  passed  since  I  had  seen  her ; 
but,  rising  clumsily,  I  bowed  to  Mademoi- 
selle Claire  Louvois.  There  was  a  faint  touch 
of  color  on  her  fair  skin  as  she  recognized 
me. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  I  said,  bowing  as  best  I 
could,  and  thinking  in  how  sad  a  plight  I 
had  left  her, — "  a  poor  servant  of  yours." 

"Is  it  indeed  you,  Monsieur  Saint-Der- 
nier ? "  said  she,  half  turning  away  ;  and, 
with  the  sweet  consideration  which  always 
had  been  hers,  she  extended  a  hand  gravely. 

"  I  indeed  am  glad  to  see  you."  And 
then  she  drew  her  hand  from  me,  and  called 


74  THREE   WORTHIES. 

to  the  groom.  But  I  quickly  had  myself 
under  control,  and,  turning,  I  asked  whether 
I  might  not  have  a  chance  of  seeing  her  again. 

"  I  value  your  opinion,  even  if  you  scorn 
me.  If  I  lose  it,  as  I  have  lost  its  grace, 
indeed  nothing  is  left." 

Again  she  turned,  her  frank  eyes  scruti- 
nizing. 

**  It  is  I  who  have  wronged  you.  It  is  I, 
— who  must  ask  forgiveness,  Monsieur  Saint- 
Dernier.  I  have  heard  your  distinction  as  it 
was  put  in  the  journals  ;  and  I  understood 
what  was  written  there.  I  understand  now 
that, — that  time  at  Grand-Mai  !  " 

And  I,  noting  how  beautiful  she  was,  only 
could  say,  bowing  again  : 

"  Ah,  I  thank  you  !  " 

Now  the  color  was  gone  from  her  face  ; 
but  she  extended  her  hand  gravely  again. 

"Good-bye,  IMonsieur  Saint-Dernier." 

I  attempted  to  say  something  further,  but 
she  was  gone,  a  lithe  figure  against  the  sky. 
Nor  did  I  try  to  follow. 


VICOMTE   DE    SAINT-DERNIER.  75 

How  long  I  sat  there,  I  know  not  ;  nor  do 
I  remember  how  I  came  to  the  Hotel  Saint- 
Dernier  on  the  Avenue  de  I'Alma.  Sud- 
denly, with  the  longing  to  see  her  again,  I 
called  to  me  Pierre,  who  once  was  coach- 
man, but  who  now  was  my  factotum. 

"  Do  you  know  the  Hotel  Louvois  on  the 
Boulevard  Saint-Germain  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  do,  Monsieur." 

**  Inquire  if  there  may  be  a  Mademoiselle 
Louvois  there  ?  " 

Shortly  he  came  and  told  me  that  she 
would  be  there  on  the  morrow  with  Madame 
de  Bernard,  her  aunt.  For,  while  chance 
had  done  its  part  toward  bringing  about  the 
meeting,  now  the  part  of  action  was  with 
me.  Waiting  I  saw  all  the  details  of  Ma- 
dame de  Bernard's  salon  on  the  Boulevard 
Saint-Germain.  The  distant  corners  were  in 
the  shadow,  out  of  which  Mademoiselle 
Louvois  came,  as  if  this  had  been  the  salon 
at  Grand-Zvlal. 

Now  that  which  was  said  and  done  then, 


76  THREE  WORTHIES. 

I  cannot  tell  you  at  all.  I  only  remember  that 
she  saicV  that  she  had  thought  I  cared  more 
for  my  message  than  for  her.  Of  this,  as  you 
may  believe,  I  soon  dissuaded  her. 

Partly  I  owed  the  great  good-fortune  to 
the  dinner  at  Florence,  when  the  Prince  told 
how  an  officer  of  his  staff  acted  as  best  he 
could  to  deliver  the  message.  Madame  de 
Bernard  understood  us  ;  but  of  the  Graf  I 
despaired  ;  and  to  this  day,  though  I,  at 
least  recently,  never  have  done  anything 
savoring  of  dishonor,  I  believe  that  he  re- 
gards me  with  suspicion  ;  or  he  may  condone 
the  fault  by  stating  that  I  am  a  Parisian. 
But  the  episode  seems  to  prove  to  me  at 
least  that  the  end  one  wishes  for  devoutly, — 
if  he  brings  all  of  his  faculties  to  bear  on  the 
vnsh, — he  may  attain  at  last.  At  least  this 
is  the  version  that  Antoine,  my  cousin  the 
Bishop,  puts  upon  the  matter, 

**  There  be  good  and  evil  forces  at  work, — 
and  the  Devil  is  mighty,"  he  said,  when  I 
told    him    of    Gervaise    Dumont  :    and    he 


VICOMTE   DE    SAINT-DERNIER.  77 

crossed  himself  as  one  who  would  exorcise 
a  demon. 

Very  curiously  this  was  recalled  to  me  ; 
and,  lately,  I  have  begun  to  believe  my 
cousin.  While  religion  is  a  matter  of  feel- 
ing more  than  of  reason,  I  believe  in  a 
higher  reason  than  that  which  may  be  for- 
mulated in  strict  demonstration  ;  nor  did 
Claire  Louvois  and  I  arrive  at  our  under- 
standing because  we  reasoned  about  it. 

Shall  I  say  that  I  felt  as  if  the  good  princi- 
ple had  triumphed  ;  and  Gervaise  Dumont 
leading  on  to  the  fulfilment  of  the  message 
of  the  Prince,  by  whatever  means,  seemed  to 
signify  the  blackness  of  despair  ;  for  the  ad- 
venture with  Dumont  had  darkened  my  life. 
Nor  was  it  without  a  shudder  that  I  heard 
Pierre  Renne's  curious  story  long  after. 

Now,  Pierre  Renne  is  a  Parisian  of  his 
peculiar  class ;  a  lover  of  pleasure,  the 
boulevards,  the  Cafe  Chantant,  despising 
the  country,  and  adoring  la  belle  Paris. 
He  has  been  for  me  always  a  source  of  sur- 


78  THREE  WORTHIES. 

prise,  as  he  rolls  his  eyes  over  an  unexpected 
piece  of  news.  One  of  his  peculiarities  is 
that  of  letting  his  tongue  run  apace,  and 
oftener  faster  than  his  thoughts.  My  house- 
hold always  are  laughing  at  him,  and  yet  I 
like  the  fellow.  The  day  in  question,  I 
noticed  his  uncommon  pallor,  and  the  un- 
certainty declared  by  his  eyes. 

"Well,  what  is  it?  the  grooms?  news 
from  the  country  ?  the  dogs  ?  " 

"  Neither  one  nor  the  other,  Monsieur.  I 
have  seen  a  ghost." 

"  A  ghost,  man?  We  all  see  ghosts  sooner 
or  later — our  past,  our  follies." 

**  Spare  the  j'ezi  (T esprit.  Monsieur.     I  have 

seen "  and  his  voice  sank  to  a  whisper, 

**Gervaise  Dumont." 

I  believe  I  turned  on  him.  "Gervaise 
Dumont  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  have  seen  him, — at  his  end,  his 
horrible  end.     Do  you  hear.  Monsieur  ?  " 

"  Go  on.     I  am  listening." 

**  I  had  been,  Monsieur,  to  see  my  brother 


VICOMTE   DE    SAINT-DERNIER.  70 

in  the  Quartier  Latin,  and.  as  I  came  along 
the  Cite,  I  thought  suddenly  to  look  in  at  the 
Morgue.  (I  have  stopped  there  often,  Mon- 
sieur, noting  the  poor  devils,  who,  indeed, 
are  probably  now  devils  of  the  bottomless 
pit.)  So  it  was  not  strange  that  I  should 
push  my  way  through  the  crowd — that  is  al- 
ways there,  Monsieur, — and  there — I  swear 
it — I  saw  Gervaise  Dumont's  dead  face, 
smaller,  and  discolored.  Monsieur,  it  made 
me  feel  faint,  like  a  child  at  sight  of 
blood.  For  if  it  were  not  he,  it  was  his 
double." 

"When  I  chided  him,  he  only  repeated  him- 
self, pale  and  chattering,  as  if  it  had  been 
winter  instead  of  summer,  till  I  ordered  him 
avv'ay,  tr}ang  to  order  away  with  him  the 
picture  conjured  by  a  drunken  fancy,  or  by 
his  experience — I  cannot  tell. 


Fifteen  years  may  make  their  differences, 
for  no  longer  to  the  man  of  affairs  may  the 


80  THREE   WORTHIES. 

future  be  promiseful  of  castles  in  Spain,  and 
the  muscles  have  stiffened.  Now,  when  the 
day  may  be  over,  and  the  creature  comforts 
tend  to  content,  I  am  apt  to  tell  my  story, 
possibly  in  the  manner  of  approaching  gar- 
rulity. 


II.  A  SIEUR  DE  BERTRAND 


8l 


II. 

A  SIEUR  DE  BERTRAND. 

"     A   RE  you  he — Michel  Bertrand?" 

i\  If  at  first  I  did  not  answer,  this 
was  because  all  that  which  I  had  thought  to 
do  was  before,  demanding  action,  till  con- 
straint slipped  away  like  a  coat  which  has 
fitted  clumsily.  Again  he  asked,  more 
faintly,  his  uncertain  eyes  scrutinizing  and 
shrinking  from  the  gathering  fierceness  of  my 
glance. 

"Are  you  he  in  truth — Michel  Bertrand  ?" 
His  voice  faintly  declaring  his  knowledge  of 
the  answer  without  help  from  any  word  of 
mine.  Yet  I  answered  in  tones  escaping  my 
intention  of  gentleness. 

83 


84  THREE   WORTHIES. 

' '  Once  indeed  I  was  he,  Michel  Bertrand, 
but  now " 

For  as  I  hesitated  the  whole  past  paraded  ; 
first  calling  for  revenge  as  I  had  suffered 
bitterly,  and  as  the  affront  v/hich  he  had  put 
upon  me  had  been  grievous.  With  this 
mingled  the  consideration  which  had  grown 
upon  me,  inasmuch  as  now  my  nature  had 
changed,  since  my  friend  had  shown  the  guise 
of  enemy. 

For  there  had  been  the  sorry  struggle  of 
the  Good  and  the  Bad — betwixt  the  part  be- 
longing to  God,  and  the  other  swayed  by 
Satan — of  the  dreary  hours  teaching  the 
Grace  of  the  Good.  Then,  in  the  stillness  of 
the  night  in  the  forest  and  the  noisiness  of 
my  soul,  the  Evil  sometimes  had  the  better, 
till  I  curst  God,  and  the  Creation,  and  my 
birth.  Yet,  when  the  branches,  bending  in 
the  little  wind,  alone  answered,  as  if  Heaven 
disdained  my  curses,  I  seemed  to  see  my 
wretchedness  like  some  outside  observer ; 
and   I   beheld  a  man,  left  without  saving 


I 


A   SIEUR   DE   BERTRAND,  85 

grace,  in  the  lone  comradeship  of  his  own 
fiendish  thought.  Such  in  truth  is  the  sul- 
phurous flames  of  the  Book ;  and  the  tor- 
turing fiends  are  thoughts,  wrought  out 
without  hindrance,  to  their  own  desolating 
End.  Thus,  since  I  was  not  in  that  drear 
Eternit)',  was  I  suffered  to  see  the  End  which 
I  was  working  for  myself,  the  saving  Grace 
opening  the  Future  as  it  has  to  the  saints 
heretofore ;  and  when  Chance  (by  which 
often  only  the  Will  of  God  is  signified)  had 
delivered  into  my  hand,  as  wickedly  I  had 
prayed  it  might,  my  enemy,  the  black  pur- 
pose forsook  me  ;  and  I  fell  onto  my  knees, 
cr)''ing,  struggling  ;  whence  I  rose,  and,  lean- 
ing toward  him,  T  said  softly,  as  the  trial  had 
taken  from  me  my  voice  : 

"Yes,  't  is  I5  Michel  Bertrand  ;  but  fear 
not,  O  Jean  de  Prer,  for  the  Grace  of  Jesu 
has  chastened  my  spirit." 

Yet,  as  he  gazed  with  question,  again  the 
Earth  of  me  rebelled  against  the  domination 
of  the  Spirit,  and  all  that  had  gone  before  to 


86  THREE   WORTHIES. 

my  ill  showed  forebodingly.  My  lips  framed 
the  effort  of  the  Spiritual,  and,  lo,  Peace 
descended. 

"  Yea,  I  am  he  ;  and  I  have  forgiven,  as 
may  I  be  forgiven." 

Thus  was  the  marvel  wrought,  that  I  no 
longer  sought  his  injury,  and  I  gained  the 
greatest  victory  of  this  life,  even  that  over 
self ;  not  all  at  once,  as  I  have  said,  but  by 
degrees,  in  the  blessed  Solitude,  which  may 
soothe  and  righten  the  Spirit.  (Yet,  as  verily, 
there  be  natures  whom  the  lack  of  man's 
comradeship  may  distort ;  the  physician  must 
adapt  his  methods  to  his  patient.)  Thus,  the 
wish  to  crush  him  who  had  deprived  me  of 
Hope  was  granted  in  a  manner  of  which  I 
had  not  dreamt. 

Before  he  had  been  my  enemy,  he  was  my 
good  friend, — a  thing  rendering  his  perfidy 
the  more  malicious,  I  had  deemed,  when  the 
sore  hurted  keenly, — beyond  any  ground  for 
pardon.     For  much  I  had  done  for  him,  my 


A    SIEUR    DE   BERTRAND.  87 

friend.  Strong  and  fine  was  he,  deft  at 
many  things,  either  after  the  hounds,  or  in 
the  battle,  or  turning  the  nimble  phrase  of 
wit ;  a  man  to  win  a  woman  or  to  deserve  a 
friend.  Yet,  while  to  him  had  been  granted 
a  clear  fair  face  and  agile  limbs,  and  to  me 
only  insignificance,  I  was  to  the  world 
mightier  than  he — the  heir  de  Bertrand,  and 
the  most  powerful  Seigneur  in  Touraine, 
Undersized  and  mean,  no  man  fancied  me  a 
Seigneur  till  he  had  been  told,  when,  as  our 
nature  is,  he  might  be  all  courtesies.  This  I 
knew  ;  yet  I  deemed  that'  one  at  least  saw 
that  I  could  be  gentle  and  faithful ;  he  was  the 
right  arm,  strong  where  I  was  weak,  a  man 
to  strive  and  serve  for  my  friendship,  not  for 
gold.  Do  I  not  remember,  even  now  in  the 
wigwam  of  the  Huron,  how  our  comradeship 
ran? 

It  chanced  first  that  my  father  and  I,  in 
his  train,  were  returning  from  Tours,  when 
the  storm  forced  us  to  seek  lodging  at  a  place 


88  THREE    WORTHIES. 

where  we  had  seen  the  red  roofs  reaching 
upward  through  the  leafy  green  of  waving 
trees.  For  this  my  father  knew  as  the  house 
of  a  certain  follower  of  his  in  the  Italian 
wars,  the  Touranian  captain,  de  Prer.  While 
host  and  guest  discussed  the  wine,  I  was  left 
to  wander  at  my  will,  lonely  and  sad  as  I  was 
then  always.  To  the  bookish  man,  my 
tutor,  alone  was  I  of  consideration,  for  my 
Latin  ;  and  I  was  not  lacking  in  theology 
and  metaphysics.  But  my  father  hated  the 
weak,  misshapen  heir  of  the  Bertrands. 

Thus  walking  and  musing  in  the  house  of 
the  Touranian,  de  Prer,  I  became  aware  of 
a  tall  well-made  fellow,  who,  striding  to  me, 
brought  his  hand  down  upon  my  shoulder, 
so  that  I  reeled  against  the  wainscoting. 

"  I  will  fight  you,  little  weakling,"  said  he. 
Yet,  as  I  was,  I  flashed  to  anger,  saying  w^th 
a  sword  I  could  mock  his  fists.  When  he, 
jeering,  gave  me  my  humor,  he  cast  my  foil 
clattering,  till,  in  anger  at  my  weakness,  I 
burst  into  tears.     But  when  he  pitied,  I  swore 


A    SIEUR   DE   BERTRAND.  Sg 

that  I  wept  not  at  him,  rather  since  I  could 
not  tear  him  into  pieces.  Then  his  face 
softened  in  admiration  of  the  raging  heart, 
and  we  made  the  friendship  which  lasted  till 
his  perfidy. 

For  the  name's  sake  my  father  plotted. 
Inasmuch  as  I  seemed  little  likely  to  make 
the  Bertrands  mightier  with  my  arms  he  de- 
signed a  marriage,  choosing  the  heiress  of 
the  great  Comte  de  la  Foix. 

On  a  May  day,  at  the  Louvre,  I  first  saw 
Mademoiselle.  For  there  at  Court,  my  father, 
taking  me  to  a  tall  young  lady,  dark-haired, 
and  of  olive  skin, — her  mother  being  a  Mil- 
anese— said,  "  This  is  he.  Mademoiselle." 
She  turned  her  eyes  scornfully,  till  I  blushed 
in  shame  ;  yet  I  bent  the  head  not  without 
certain  grace.  "Your  humble  servitor, 
Michel  Bertrand." 

But  she  laughed  her  mockery:  "Ah, 
Monsieur,"  she  ended  more  gently,  because 


90  THREE   WORTHIES. 

pitying  my  chagrin,  "if  our  families  may 
have  thought  to  bring  us  together,  should  we 
for  their  sake  be  fools  ?  " 

And  she  looked  over  and  beyond  with  a 
sob  in  her  voice. 

Ah,  fool  was  I  indeed  to  dream  that  I 
could  gain  her  heart.  If  they  made  our 
estates  one,  she  and  her  beauty  could  not  be 
mine. 

For,  though  the  World  bowed  the  head,  it 
saw  only  the  empty  show, — the  gleam  of 
light,  not  once  suspecting  the  jewel's  flaw. 

And  then  was  the  dreariness.  One  morn- 
ing, in  wind  and  rain,  I  was  chasing  with 
horse  and  armed  men  him  who  had  been 
the  friend,  and  the  other,  who  scorned  and 
hated.  And  my  heart  was  bitter  ;  and  I 
swore  to  slay  them  both  after  having  given 
them  to  the  torture. 

But  God  cries  halt  to  the  wills  of  men  ; 


A    SIEUR    DE   BERTRAND.  9I 

an'd,  pursuing,  a  frightful  disease  befell  me  ; 
and  they  escaped.  Then  was  I  despondent 
over  Life  itself  ;  and  I  seenaed  to  have  no 
Future  ;  and  I  noted  my  nurse,  who  leaned 
toward  me  when  I  muttered  : 
"  Life  is  folly, — nothing  is  left." 
"  The  service  of  God,  Seigneur  de  Ber- 
trand." 

"  How  matters  that  to  me  ?" 
"  To  you  as  to  many  a  world-weary  soul." 
"  But  where  may  I  find  that  service  ?  " 
"Does  not  the  Society  of  Jesus  offer  to 
the  weary  Duty  .and  forgetful  Labor  ?  " 

And  the  words  were  soothing.  I  thought 
more  that  I  had  failed  in  aU  than  of  Re- 
venge ;  and  the  gloomy  World  seemed 
Despair.  Thus  in  garb  and  name  the  last 
Bertrand  became  Priest  ;  yet  not  in  Soul. 

For  when  I  strove  to  put  Holiness  in  the 
Thought,  Revenge  crowded  mightily.  I 
wrestled  with  wickedness  ;  yet  was  I  weak  ; 
— till  I  longed  for  service  in  a  far  land,  to 


92  THREE   WORTHIES. 

silence  there  my  murmuring  heart.  Then  a 
duty  was  granted  ;  and  I  came  to  New 
France,  and  among  the  Iroquois. 

In  the  stilly  forest  they  laid  before  me  the 
dying  Captain  ;  and,  looking  at  him,  I 
deemed  I  knew  him, — at  first  with  fierce 
delight.  For,  lo,  this  was  Jean  de  Prer  ; 
and  my  struggle  went  on  within  me,  till 
Heaven  descended  ;  and  I  said,  this  time 
firmly  : 

"  My  prayer  is  granted.  I  have  seen  you. 
But  now  I  only  would  forgive,  as  may  I  be 
forgiven." 

And  he,  turning,  uneasily  for  the  musket 
v/ound,  and  for  the  more  fearful  one  of  his 
spirit,  cried  : 

"Truly  are  you  revenged.  For  great 
Heart,  I  love  you — yea  have  loved  you 
always,  even  in  my  perfidy, — since  you  made 
conquest  of  me  with  your  bravery  at  my 
churlishness." 

But  I  bent  my  eyes  upon  the  crucifix,  and, 


A    SIEUR    DE   BERTRAND.  93 

methought,  the  Divine  Figure  there  moved 
the  lips.  I  saw,  without  once  glancing 
toward  hina,  a  dark  warrior  peering  at  us 
twain  ;  and  the  Iroquois,  dropping  the  can- 
vas door,  stole  away.  The  Angelus  rose,  in 
that  wilderness,  from  savage  voices,  as  if  it 
were  distant  Touraine. 

*'  And  she, — she?  "  I  questioned. 

"  She  is  in  the  care  of  God, — whither  I  go. 
But  you  have  forgiven  ?  " 

"  I  indeed  have  forgiven." 

For,  marvellously,  their  human  natures 
had  taken  up  my  wrong,  and  punished  them 
without  my  agency.  For  thus  is  the  way  of 
Heaven,  as  was  granted  me  to  know  even  in 
the  far  wilderness  of  New  France. 

Thence,  when  he  was  dead,  a  soldier  of 
New  France,  I  went  farther  into  the  wilder- 
ness among  the  barbarians,  through  the 
inland  seas  ;  and  there  has  been  given 
me  this  work  of  Grace  that  the  Soul 
might   not   destroy  itself  of  its  own  dark 


94  THREE   WORTHIES. 

memories.    Nor  longer  may  the  Devil  tempt. 
Yet  do  I  not  know,  that  in  the  moments  of 
Pride  the  Bulwarks  should  be  most  strong. 
'*  Father,  forgive  us  our  sins." 


And,  lo,  the  tops  of  the  forest  shine  with 
the  dawning  Sun. 


III.  THE    LADY    AT    THE    DEATH. 

(an  example  of  the  manner  of 
chance  cited  in  the  memoirs  of 
the   fifth   lord   duesdale.) 


ITI. 


THE  LADY   AT    THE    DEATH. 


(AN     EXAMPLE     OF     THE    MANNER     OF     CHANCE,  | 

CITED    IN    THE    MEMOIRS    OF    THE    FIFTH     LORD  | 

DUKSDALE.)  ' 


1WAS  conversing  not  long  since  with  a 
learned  man  who  has  dealt,  both  in 
France  and  Italy,  with  the  intricacies  of  the 
mind  ;  and  in  the  disputation  there  entered 
the  consideration  of  Chance,  which  the  an- 
cients personified  as  a  goddess,  Fortuna ; 
and  I  said  that  they  did  well  in  this,  while 
my  doctor  maintained  that  man's  will  is 
mightier  than  any  fortuitous  circumstance. 
But  I,  on  my  part,  held  to  my  view,  and 
cited  many  instances  of  things  which,  hap- 

7  97 


98  THREE    WORTHIES. 

pening  to  me  without  any  forethought  of 
mine,  had  changed  my  life  and  influenced 
my  character  ;  both  in  England,  during  the 
life  of  the  late  king,  and  under  the  new 
order,  as  well  as  when  I  was  in  France,  and 
of  certain  experiences  of  mine  in  the  Colo- 
nies. But,  chiefly,  I  mentioned  how  the 
events  of  certain  hours  of  a  single  day 
changed  me  from  youth  to  man,  and  decided 
my  life. 

Now,  having  been  led  through  these  con- 
siderations, of  the  manner  of  Chance  to  this 
particular  circumstance,  I  have  thought  to 
put  the  account  to  paper,  both  as  a  proof, 
and  as,  too,  the  matter,  which  took  place 
long  ago,  is  yet  without  explanation  to  many 
who  consider  it  ;  so  that,  aside  from  an  ar- 
gument in  a  disputation,  a  written  word  from 
me  can  be  no  more  than  is  proper  ;  while  I, 
who  was  concerned,  can  tell  perhaps  more 
fittingly  than  another  (at  least  for  my  chil- 
dren's ears)  how  I  gained  much,  and  the 
strange  manner  thereof. 


THE   LADY   AT    THE   DEATH.  99 

I  have  heard  men  drag  out  the  preambles 
of  their  subjects  so  long  that  you  care  not  for 
the  account  before  it  has  once  been  touched 
upon.  Lest  I  fall  into  so  grievous  an  error, 
I  will  begin  without  parleying,  or  pream- 
bling further,  where  the  matter  began  for 
me,  with  the  hunt  of  my  Lord  Falcon, 
whose  hounds  were  then  as  celebrated  as  any 
in  Surrey.  Even  now,  these  keep  their 
fame ;  for,  only  the  other  noon,  I  saw  my 
little  lad,  who,  too,  bears  the  name  Sylves- 
ter, playing  with  a  pup  in  the  park  at  Saint 
Croix  ;  and  when  I  asked  him  where  he  had 
gotten  the  brute,  he  answered  that  Launt 
Fairweather  had  sent  it  him  from  Duesdale, 
and  that  it  was  out  of  my  Lord  Falcon's 
kennel.  Do  you  wonder  that  I  should  tell 
this  incident  ?  But  God  forefend  the  time 
when  old  age  shall  have  taken  from  me  my 
liking  for  a  dog  or  a  horse  ;  then  surely  my 
senses  shall  be  outworn,  and  I  shall  be  more 
dolt  than  man.  The  fate  that  attends  the 
increase  of  years  is  a  drying  up  of  the  blood, 


100  THREE   WORTHIES. 

and,  through  this,  of  the  spirit ;  and  a  yellow, 
wrinkled,  parchment  skin  signifies,  it  is  too 
like,  a  soul  as  withered. 

But,  if  I  am  now  approaching  such  an  end 
very  speedily,  it  was  otherwise  on  the  morn- 
ing when  I  rode  after  my  Lord  Falcon's 
hounds. 

This  was  a  morning  all  clear  and  fair, 
when  horses  tossed  the  head  and  crunched 
the  bit,  wheeling  about  as  if  the  air  and  the 
anticipation  of  the  canter  were  like  some 
fine,  old,  well  corked  wine.  There  was  a 
blowing  of  horns,  a  huntsman's  coat  bright 
against  the  green,  the  muttering  of  hounds. 
From  all  the  roads  centring  at  Falcon's 
Wood  came  the  gentry  of  the  county.  Yet, 
if  I  thought  then  that  there  could  not  have 
been  a  more  goodly  day  or  a  finer  company, 
I  know  now  that  the  tumultuous  blood  of 
youth  had  much  to  do  with  the  rosy  coloring 
and  the  whole  jocund  event.  With  me  were 
Bretherton, — whom  I  saw  die  before  the 
Spaniards  ; — and  Symington,  who  now  car- 


THE  LADY   AT   THE   DEATH.  lOI 

ries  much  flesh  and  a  nose  red  from  smelling 
the  cups.  Then  there  was  the  host,  the 
great  Lord  Falcon  of  strange  nature.  His- 
tory has  told  what  my  Lord  Falcon  was  like  ; 
but  I  would  wish  to  describe  him  as  he  im- 
pressed me  then  :  a  fat,  little,  rosy-cheeked 
man,  who  sat  astride  of  his  horse,  till  you 
would  have  thought  he  must  be  bow-legged  ; 
and  still  you  wondered  how  a  man,  such  as 
he,  could  ride  so  fearlessly.  You  might  be 
laughing,  till  suddenly  he  turned  his  head, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  his  piercing,  cunning, 
black  eyes  burned  out  of  their  sockets  into 
your  brain.  I  do  not  know  whether  Lord 
Falcon  intended  this  ;  but  he  seemed  to  ob- 
serve and  to  understand  everything,  till  he, 
whom  he  noted,  might  be  in  alarm  ;  then  all 
at  once  my  Lord's  eyes  would  be  turned 
away,  and  you  wondered  what  troubled  you. 
My  Lord  Falcon  had  been  in  favor  both 
with  Royalist  and  with  Roundhead ;  and 
now,  through  some  sly  trick,  he  was  well 
liked  of  the  king  ;  though  he,  by  covert  and 


102  THREE   WORTHIES. 

villainous  act,  might  make  himself  hated,  he 
always  was  feared  ;  so  my  Father,  teaching 
me  the  arts  of  the  Court,  while  swearing  my 
Lord  Falcon  to  be  of  malicious  mind,  yet 
cautioned  me  that  in  the  world  it  was  needful 
to  be  of  suave  presence,  even  to  those  we  hate. 

The  keepers  were  crying  at  the  hounds, 
that,  sniffing  the  fresh  air,  tugged  at  their 
leashes.  I  stood  a  little  apart  from  the 
rest,  by  my  mare  Dolly  and  my  man, 
Launt  Fairweather,  who  was  tightening  the 
girth.  Then  Mistress  Burlington,  pulling 
on  her  glove,  cried  to  me  : 

"How  comes  it,  Master  Sylvester,  that 
young  gentlemen  who  have  no  time  for  cour- 
tesy toward  their  neighbors,  can  be  after  the 
fox?" 

"Ah,  Madam,  one  cannot  always  do  the 
pleasant  duties." 

When  Mistress  Burlington,  laughing,  won- 
drously  pretty  I  deemed  then  (I  know  now 
that  the  judgments  of  twenty  of  a  pleasant 
day,  are  apt  to  be  untrustworthy),  called  after 


THE   LADY   AT   THE  DEATH.  IO3 

me,  that  I  was  learning  aptly  my  Father's 
grace,  and  that  she  was  glad  I  had  not  be- 
come too  bookish  (meaning,  I  suppose,  not 
too  disregardful  of  gallant  things) — while 
she  was  speaking  thus,  I  became  aware  of  a 
lady,  who  was  young,  and  of  neat  figure, 
and  of  the  complexion  of  one  who  loves  more 
than  routs,  or  gallants,  God's  out-of-doors, 
and  a  horse,  and  the  chase  of  the  fox.  Her 
black  tossed  his  head  viciously,  while  she 
talked  to  a  gorgeous  gallant,  who  grimaced, 
and  leaned  first  on  one  toe,  then  upon  an- 
other, as  if,  like  Narcissus  in  the  tale,  he 
thought  deeply  of  his  own  reflection.  Yet, 
I  knew  that  he  could  not  see  himself  in  this 
lady's  clear  gray  eyes  ;  inasmuch  she  was 
thinking  of  the  hunt,  and  of  the  moment 
when  hounds,  and  horses,  with  the  riders, 
should  be  chasing  the  fox  ;  and  her  counte- 
nance was  a-flushingon  this  account,  not  for 
the  phrases  or  love  looks  of  Sir  Narcissus. 
So  intently  did  I  regard  her,  as  she  rendered 
the  other  women   irJerior,   that   at   first  I 


104  THREE  WORTHIES. 

noted  not  the  words  of  my  man,  Launt  Fair- 
weather,  till  he,  becoming  impatient,  burst 
out : 

"The  girth  is  well  tightened,  and  from 
the  manner  she  sniffs,  it  may  be  a  high  hedge 
she  '11  refuse." 

"  Of  that  am  I  certain,"  quoth  I,  thinking 
of  the  lady  before  whom  the  gorgeous  gallant 
was  tiptoeing. 

"Ah,  master,  she  is  pining  for  the  run," 
said  good  Launt,  thinking  I  spoke  of  Dolly, 
the  mare,  upon  which,  with  silly  tingling,  I 
recollected. 

"  Who  may  that  lady  be  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Indeed,  I  know  not  that  I  have  seen 
her  before.     But  the  gallant " 

"Yes,  the  gallant?" 

"  To  whom  she  talks,  is  a  Sir  Rodney 
Benham,  of  Suffolk,  I  am  told." 

Then  was  the  whistling  and  crying  to  the 
dogs  ;  and  all  were  mounting.  Pulling  my 
Dolly  about,  I  was  by  Mistress  Burlington's 
side. 


THE   LADY   AT   THE   DEATH.  IO5 

"  Who  may  that  young  lady  be  ?" 

"Ah,  Master  Syl.,"  she  cried.  *' There 
is  a  young  lady  of  spirit,  who  hesitates  not  at 
a  horse,  nor  stops  at  a  ditch  ;  and  who  cares 
more  for  a  fox  than  for  a  gallant. " 

But  as  she  did  not  speak  the  name,  I  asked 
it  again,  while  we  swung  into  a  canter. 

"  Mistress  Elizabeth  Throckmorton,"  said 
she. 

But  the  hunt  was  in  swing.  First  a  hallo- 
ing ;  and  we  were  on  a  brisk  canter,  till  I 
found  my  Dolly  flying  over  ditch  and  hedge, 
and  the  blood  tingling  through  my  veins  ; 
and  the  joy  of  it  rendered  everything  else, 
whether  of  sorrow  or  of  pleasure,  of  small 
account.  Presently  I  saw  that  I  was  draw- 
ing away  from  the  crowd  ;  some  were 
scattering  ;  many  fell  behind  ;  and  I  saw 
Bretherton's  bay  catching  his  front  feet  in 
the  top  of  a  hedge,  and  sending  Bretherton 
sprawling  ;  then,  instead  of  him,  I  beheld 
only  the  rim  of  wooded  knolls  to  the  left  as 
I  bore  ;  and  the  cries  of  the  hunt  died  away 


I06  THREE   WORTHIES. 

with  increasing  faintness,  till  I  heard  neither 
man  nor  hound.  But,  deeming  that  I  knew 
the  manner  of  the  fox,  I  guided  my  Dolly 
up  a  gentle  slope,  at  the  top  of  which  the 
mare,  being,  like  her  sex,  given  to  unex- 
pected things,  suddenly  careened  ;  and,  as  it 
was,  though  my  knees  clung  tightly  to  her 
sides,  I  lost  the  stirrups,  and  like  a  boy,  or 
a  bookish  and  clumsy  fellow,  I  grasped  her 
mane.  Yet,  catching  my  toes,  more  like  a 
horseman,  I  found  the  stirrups,  till  I  brought 
her  down  on  to  her  four  feet,  biting  the  bit 
and  kicking,  as  she  was.  Then  I  saw  that 
she  had  turned  at  the  edge  of  a  broad  crev- 
ice, cut  by  a  little  stream  in  a  clay  embank- 
ment. Beyond  lay  a  glade,  between  great 
oaks,  where,  in  the  shade  from  the  sun, 
brilliant  above,  the  hounds  were  baying  over 
the  dead  fox  ;  while  at  a  little  distance,  her 
hand  on  the  bridle  of  her  panting  horse,  was 
Mistress  Throckmorton  ;  and  I  saw  how 
fine  was  her  contour  against  the  setting  of 
the  oaks.  When  I  had  a  voice,  I  called  to 
her,  making  a  courtesy  : 


THE  LADY  AT  THE   DEATH.  IO7 

"Indeed  am  I  conquered  by  this  sight, 
— Diana,  indeed." 

She  turned  toward  me,  with  shrug  of  the 
shoulder. 

"  Compliment  not  me,  but  my  good  horse, 
that  knew  the  way.  You  might  have  been 
before,  Sir,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  ditch." 

Again  I  bowed  to  her, — truly  a  Diana. 

"Not  in  the  ditch,  so  much  as  in  your 
riding,  is  the  cause,  as  you  may  see." 

As  I  spoke  I  was  measuring  the  ditch, 
which  indeed  was  broader  than  any  I  had 
tried  up  to  that  day ;  while  I  knew  not 
whether  the  mare  could  carry  so  far  without 
wings.  Yet  she  was  of  good  breeding,  and 
her  muscles  could  be  stretched  to  the  tension 
of  flying.  I  drew  her  back  a  pace  or  more, 
doubting  much  whether  I  should  not  incur  a 
sorry  failure  in  my  Diana's  eyes.  Then, 
scouting  the  idea,  and  declaring,  like  a  fol- 
lower of  Mahomet,  *'  Let  what  shall  be,  be," 
I  dug  the  spurs  into  the  mare,  putting  her  to 
the  ditch.  For  a  second  it  seemed  as  if  she 
might  refuse  ;  but  something  of  my  resolu- 


I08  THREE  WORTHIES. 

tion  mastered  her,  till  she  pushed  strongly 
into  the  space.  For  an  instant  the  mare  and 
I  hung  above  the  ditch  ; — I  could  see  Mis- 
tress Throckmorton  regarding  me  with  flush- 
ing cheeks  ;  and  then  the  mare  caught  at  the 
bank,  stumbling,  I  think,  and  nearly  unseat- 
ing me  ;  yet,  recovering,  she  dragged  her 
weary  self  into  the  glade  ;  and  straightway  I 
dismounted  by  the  young  lady's  side. 

"  You  may  perceive  it  was  not  the  ditch," 
said  I,  with  bravado. 

"  Sir,  your  leaping  was  not  bad.  I  wish  I 
owned  your  mare." 

**  Indeed,"  said  I,  bowing  again,  and 
thinking  how  much  better  a  goddess  was 
she  than  ever  Diana  of  the  Grecians,  "the 
mare  belongs  to  her  who  was  at  the  death." 

At  which  she  laughed  in  gentle  mockery, 
while  the  dogs  sniffed  and  bayed  with  joy, 
and  the  horses  panted. 

"Sir,  I  was  not  asking  for  your  mare; 
only  admiring  her."  And  her  eyes  were 
bent  on  my  Dolly,  not  on  me,  while  I  mut- 


THE   LADY  AT   THE   DEATH.  lOQ 

tered  something  that  was  phrased  clumsily 
and  unbecomingly  ;  and  thus  the  hunt  burst 
upon  us,  and  in  itcame  the  gorgeous  gallant, 
at  whom  I  wondered,  inasmuch  as  he  pre- 
served his  clothes  so  unmussed  from  the  exer- 
cise ;  and  straightway  he  was  tiptoeing  as 
before  ;  and  she  no  longer  noted  even  my 
Dolly  ;  till,  like  some  solitary  in  an  incon- 
gruous crowd,  I  was  for  mounting,  and 
riding  away,  when  Mistress  Burlington,  dis- 
cerning me,  beckoned  ;  and  when  I  had  ap- 
proached, said  she  to  the  lady  who  had  been 
at  the  death  of  the  fox,  and  whom  all  were 
complimenting  : 

"  This  is  Master  Sylvester,  of  Duesdale." 
Then  the   lady  said,    acknowledging  me 
even  before  the  gorgeous  gallant,  ' '  And  he 
too  was  at  the  death." 

Yet,  when  I  would  answer  fittingly,  my 
tongue  caught  in  my  throat,  and  I  could  say 
nothing  ;  till  again  I  was  a  solitary  ;  and, 
mounting  my  mare,  I  rode  away  like  some 
awkward  boy ;  and  I  thought  of  my  life,  and 


no  THREE   WORTHIES. 

of  things  I  had  done,  and  of  my  experience 
with  women.  For  then  I  was  twenty,  and 
had  followed  my  Lord  of  Duesdale,  my 
Father  ;  and  had  acquaintance  even  with 
ladies  of  the  court,  which  rendered  the  stran- 
ger my  clumsiness  on  that  day  before  the 
lady  at  the  death.  And  having  been  thus 
put  out  of  countenance, — I  knew  not  why, — 
I  thought  of  a  lady  I  had  known  at  Court, 
and  whom  like  a  boy  I  had  deemed  I  loved. 
But  she,  casting  languishing  glances  at  me, 
in  the  meantime  told  me  I  was  only  a  lad, 
and  she  flew  higher  ;  on  another  day  that  she 
was  sorry  for  me,  but  she  cared  not  for  mar- 
riage. Thus  I  left  my  Father  and  went  back 
to  the  university,  with  a  heart  that  I  fancied 
to  be  aching.  Now,  one  day  on  the  high- 
way near  York,  where  I  had  been  to  visit  my 
aunt,  I  saw  this  lady  borne  by  in  a  carriage, 
behind  which  were  many  postilions.  Beside 
her  sat  a  comely  fellow.  When  she  bowed 
sweetly,  I  doffed  my  hat  with  beating  heart, 
till  the  gentleman  with  whom  I   rode  said 


THE   LADY    AT   THE   DEATH.  Ill 

that  the  comely  fellow  was  her  husband.  In 
despair  I  spurred  my  horse  down  the  high- 
way, till  my  man,  Launt  Fairweather,  over- 
took me,  now  walking  and  breathing  hard. 

"Why,  Master?"  questioned  he.  I  turned 
about  in  my  stirrups  as  disconsolately  as  the 
hero  in  the  tragedy,  if  he  had  ridden. 

"  I  loved  that  lady,  and  she  told  me  that 
she  would  not  marry." 

And  good  Launt  laughed.  '*  It  is  easy  to 
see  that  you  are  at  your  books,"  said  he. 
' '  Do  you  not  know  that  a  gallant  never  can 
make  love  to  a  lady  of  the  Court  till  she  be 
married  ?  Often  I  have  heard  your  Father 
say  so  much." 

Then  I  put  spurs  to  my  horse.  "  I  am  a 
whimpering  youngster,"  I  cried.  "  But  pres- 
ently I  '11  be  older  ;  I  '11  be  older."  Ah, 
vain  youth  that  I  was  !  Presently  I  was  in 
love  again  ;  only,  when  I  found  that  she 
would  love  me,  I  saw  that  I  liked  her  for  the 
pursuit  of  her.  When  my  Father  would  have 
me  interested  in  Lady  de  Long,  because  she 


112  THREE   WORTHIES. 

was  a  great  heiress,  and  a  beauty,  indeed,  I 
liked  her  ;  yet,  when  I  had  seen  her  a  dozen 
times,  I  saw  that  she  would  lead  her  husband 
a  dance,  and  that  Kate,  who  was  barmaid  of 
the  Mitre  Inn,  would  have  been  as  fine  a 
lady,  and  no  coarser,  if  Fortune  had  put  her 
among  the  great. 

Of  these  matters  I  reflected  at  the  age  of 
twenty,  as  I  rode  away  from  the  hunt,  being 
in  discomfiture  at  my  clumsiness  before  the 
lady  at  the  death.  Then,  presently,  I  was 
aware  of  Bretherton,  who  was  limping  at  his 
horse's  side. 

"  I  have  had  a  fall,"  said  he,  looking  about 
as  a  man  may  who  finds  himself  observed 
when  in  sorry  plight ;  and  he  seemed  so 
much  as  I  felt  that  I  even  laughed  ;  when  he 
was  enraged  and  said  he  would  fight  me,  I 
sobered,  and  said  I  : 

"  I  was  laughing  only  because  in  you  I 
saw  my  own  reflection." 

**  Laugh  on,  laugh  on,"  said  he,  bitterly. 
But  directly   I   knew  he   would   forget  his 


THE  LADY  AT  THE   DEATH.  II3 

anger  and  his  plight,  and  would  be  capering, 
even  while  the  fiddlers  were  a-tuning.  But 
my  plight  was  worse  ;  and  I  cared  to  be 
alone  ;  and  thus,  calling  Launt  Fainveathcr 
to  me,  I  told  him  we  should  go  back  to  Dues- 
dale.  And  he  came  to  me  in  bad  humor, 
since  he  deemed  that  he  might  lose  his  ale 
and  his  cakes,  and  a  dance  with  some  buxom 
lass. 

*'  Your  humor  is  bad,  Launt,"  said  I. 

"  Even  so,  Master,"  said  he. 

"But  mine  is  worse,"  said  I,  "and  you 
cannot  expect  to  be  pleasanter  than  your 
master." 

"  Nor  do  I  ;  nor  do  I  ;  but  we  lose  a 
jolly  time — a  jolly  time." 

"What  difference  makes  it, — if  your  lass 
should  dance  with  a  comelier  fellow  ? " 
quoth  I. 

"  That  she  would  n't,"  answered  he,  as  if 
I  had  gone  mad.  And,  again,  I  laughed, 
and  was  glum  in  turn.  And  Launt  followed 
like  a  sad  chorus,  as  he  was  deprived  of  his 


114  THREE   WORTHIES. 

pleasure.  But  me  he  would  have  followed, 
though  he  might  grumble,  even  to  the  can- 
non's mouth,  since  v/e  had  been  brought  up 
together,  and  had  been  play-fellows  ;  till  he 
v/as  older,  when  he  was  my  body-servant  ; 
nor  a  more  quick  and  ready-witted  knave  I 
know  not,  as  I  could  prove  ;  just  as  I  can 
prove  from  my  own  life  that  Chance  often- 
times is  mightier  than  Will  of  Man. 

Now,  thus  far,  there  has  been  naught  out 
of  the  common  in  this  account  ;  but  directly 
I  will  show  you  how  Chance  pursued  me 
fleeing  it ;  as  the  chance  of  Love  or  Death, 
however  we  may  avoid,  pursues  us  all.  (I 
have  heard  philosophers  say  that  the  pursuer 
is  only  the  Predestination  of  Heaven.) 

Yet,  that  day  I  was  not  unlike  my  Father, 
who  fled  rather  than  tried  to  achieve  things 
at  which  he  was  clumsy.  Because  I  was  not 
graceful,  as  the  gorgeous  gallant,  I  left  the 
company  at  the  hunt,  and  the  lady  at  the 
death  before  whom  I  should  have  seemed  un- 
manly.    But  my  Father  never  was  in  a  grace- 


THE   LADY    AT   THE   DEATH.  II5 

less  plight  ;  since  there  never  lived  a  more 
adroit  and  fine  gentleman.  At  fifty  his 
spirit  longed  for  pleasure,  and  was  as  unsated 
as  at  twenty-five.  Chiefly  he  was  afraid  of 
the  dire  Certainty  ;  and  I  have  seen  him,  all 
a  trembling  at  the  grisly  End,  crossing  him- 
self, and  bending  before  Father  de  Rand,  the 
Chaplain.  Yet  he  who  so  feared  Death 
would  face  it  on  the  field,  or  in  a  duel,  for  a 
woman's  smile.  This  splendid  gentleman 
was  always  my  ideal,  whose  reproof  I  feared, 
and  whose  kind  word  Avas  the  pleasantest  in 
the  world.  I  tried  to  walk,  to  bow,  to  turn 
a  phrase  as  he.  Only  when  his  wig  was  off 
did  he  appear  like  a  common  mortal ;  but 
when  his  valet  had  dressed  him,  and  there 
wer^  no  straying  gray  locks,  no  god  could 
have  been  more  noble,  thought  I. 

Now  that  night  at  Duesdale  when  I  was 
down-spirited  and  gloomy,  I  took  Master 
Shakespeare's  book,  and  tried  to  render  my- 
self of  a  humor  as  agreeably  sad  as  Prince 
Hamlet's.     Lost  in  my  melancholia,  I  gave 


Il6  THREE    WORTHIES. 

small  attention  to  Father  de  Rand, — whom 
I  did  not  know  to  be  at  Duesdale  ;  till  he 
passed  through  the  library,  not  giving  me 
word  or  glance  ;  as  his  habit  was  to  come 
and  go  without  warning.  The  two  principal 
inhabitants  of  Duesdale, — since  my  Father 
was  not  often  there,  —  we  accepted  each 
other's  presence  without  word  of  question. 
He  was  to  me,  as  I  to  him,  like  a  fixture  in 
the  place,  an  accustomed  chair,  a  servant's 
familiar  face.  Tall,  wasted,  like  a  student, 
and  with  restless  little  brown  eyes,  he  yet^ 
had  a  manner  singularly  unformed  for  a 
Jesuit ;  not  a  kindly,  nor  a  frank,  but  a 
keenly  observant  face  ;  a  persuasive  tongue, 
and,  yet,  a  manner  often  repellant.  On  cer- 
tain subjects  of  the  Church  he  could  gain  an 
eloquence  at  once  persuasive  and  command- 
ing. I  have  seen  him  turn  from  my  Father, 
declaring  that  he  was  a  sinful  man  ;  and 
when  my  Father  cried  out  in  despair,  or  was 
fierce  by  turns,  he  yielded  not  a  point,  but 
maintaining   the     same    repellant   mannes. 


THE  LADY   AT  THE   DEATH.  II7 

seemed  to  deny  the  sinner  the  entrance  to 
Heaven,  till,  to  remove  the  denial,  my  Father 
was  ready  to  yield,  or  promise  aught.  I 
saw  easily  that  Father  de  Rand  had  other 
duties,  more  pressing  than  that  of  attendance 
upon  the  Deusdale  parishioners.  For  this, 
as  I  say,  his  long  absences  implied  ;  and 
when  he  came  and  went  no  more  attention 
was  given  him  than  on  this  evening,  when 
my  old  hound,  Ajax,  disdained  to  raise 
his  lashes  at  the  accustomed  step.  The 
crackling  of  the  logs  seemed  to  be  an  ac- 
companiment to  the  playwriter's  verse,  till 
I  fell  to  dozing.  When  languidly  I  might 
start  up,  the  opened  eyes  could  but  note  the 
portraits  of  the  Duesdales,  whose  lives  had 
been  filled  with  passion,  and  cruelty,  and 
trouble, — though  now  their  names  only  might 
fill  a  page  of  fine  historical  writing.  Among 
these  I  fell  to  studpng  the  likeness  of  my 
grandfather  by  the  great  Van  Dyck — (who 
painted  men  wisely,  not  so  much  as  they 
appeared  as  their  characters  were  ;  as  it  has 


Il8  THREE   WORTHIES. 

seemed  to  me  whenever  I  have  seen  in  the 
Louvre  that  portrait,  "  Charles  I.,  D'Angle- 
terre,"  whose  descendant  is  still  my  King, 
though  now  in  England  loyalty  may  be  a 
forgotten  accomplishment). 

Thus  I  sat  that  particular  evening  in  the 
library  of  Duesdale,  melancholily  perusing 
Master  Shakespeare's  melancholy  play,  when 
I  heard  a  creaking  of  the  ancient  draw- 
bridge. For,  at  that  time,  this  was  still  in 
use  at  Duesdale,  though  it  was  a  poor 
enough  defence,  as  my  grandfather  had 
found  when  a  cannon  and  Cromwell's  troop- 
ers brought  him  out  of  his  refuge. 

Listening,  I  made  certain  that  the  bridge 
was  moving  ;  when  I  went  out  into  the 
court,  where,  in  the  scuiTying  rain,  some 
score  of  fellows  were  gathered  about  a 
chariot,  while  a  gentleman,  or  he  seemed 
such,  talked  with  Father  de  Rand.  Since 
Father  de  Rand  acted  in  most  things  for  my 
Father,  I  first  hesitated,  shadowed  by  the 
door  from  tlie  flickering  torchlight.    But  the 


THE  LADY  AT  THE   DEATH.  II9 

Jesuit,  seeing  me,  turned,  saying  that  he  to 
whom  he  spoke  was  Master  Richard  Burton  ; 
and,  then,  the  other  doffed  his  hat,  display- 
ing the  face  becoming  a  handsome  figure. 
Seemingly,  an  elderly  man,  he  was  of  win- 
ning address  ;  and  he  said  that  he  had 
stopped  on  his  way  to  London,  whither  he 
was  taking  his  ward.  Now  we  three  had 
entered  the  hall,  and  I  saw  that  Master 
Richard  Burton  was  an  old  man,  marvel- 
lously well  preserved  ;  for  the  candlelight 
displayed  lines  of  emotion  and  action,  a  sus- 
picion of  wrinkles.  And  there  followed  a 
lady,  accompanied  by  an  old  dame  ;  and 
turning  about,  with  my  feeling  of  clumsiness 
still  controlling,  as  well  as  in  great  astonish- 
ment, I  saw  that  she  was  the  lady  whom  I 
had  seen  at  the  death.  Yet,  different  was 
she  from  what  she  had  appeared  before  ;  for 
then  her  face  was  joyful  in  the  sport  ;  now 
it  was  shadov/ed  by  trouble.  Without  not- 
ing either  me  or  the  priest,  she  regarded 
Master  Burton. 


120  THREE  WORTHIES. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you  at  all,  Master 
Burton." 

"Indeed,  am  I  mightily  sorry,"  he  de- 
clared. "  Appearances  are  against  me  ;  but 
you  will  see  later  that  I  care  only  to  get  you 
from  my  Lord  Falcon," 

Hereupon  she  burst  into  tears. 

"Oh,  that  I  should  be  so  treated,  and 
tumbled  about  from  guardian  to  guardian  !" 

Then,  with  the  suddenness  of  woman's 
changing  temper,  she  was  regarding  him 
through  dry,  flashing  eyes. 

"  A  young  girl,  Sir,  is  not  a  piece  of  bag- 
gage, as  you  may  find.  Oh,  I  am  poorer  in 
my  freedom  than  the  poorest  girl  in  Eng- 
.^and  ! " 

There  had  followed  the  lady  out  of  the 
court  an  old  wrinkled  dame  ;  and  to  her 
Master  Burton  called,  picking  from  a  table  a 
candlestick,  and  directing  her  to  accompany 
Mistress  Throckmorton  to  her  chamber. 
Whereupon  the  lady  laughed  outright. 

**  You  have  me  guarded  now,  and  in  your 


THE    LADY   AT   THE   DEATH.  121 

power.  But  if  I  can  thwart  you, — if  I  can, 
neither  you  nor  my  Lord  Falcon  shall  profit 
from  my  estate." 

Here  her  eyes  wandering  uncertainly, 
rested  upon  me,  I  thought  with  appeal  ;  but 
I,  in  the  hall,  stood  there  in  momentary 
silence,  like  a  clown  ;  yet,  I  had  reason  ;  for 
I  knew  not  but  that  Father  de  Rand,  who 
certainly  appeared  to  have  a  clear  under- 
standing with  Master  Burton,  might  not  be 
acting  for  my  Father  in  the  matter.  From 
outside  entered  the  shouts  of  Master  Bur- 
ton's men,  who  already  were  eating  and 
quafi&ng  ale,  as  if  they  at  least  doubted  not 
the  freedom  of  the  house.  And  I  was  an- 
gered at  not  having  been  consulted  at  all, 
while  the  lady,  whom  I  had  met  so  lately  at 
the  death  of  the  fox,  seemed  wondrous  fair. 
As  she  turned  to  follow  the  old  dame,  her 
companion,  I  stepped  fonvard  now,  more  as 
a  man  than  a  simpleton,  and,  bowing,  I 
asked  if  she  remembered  me.  And  she 
looked  about  uncertainly. 


122  THREE    WORTHIES. 

**  You  are  indeed  he  who  took  the  ditch  ? 
— And  his  friend  ?  " 

She  pointed  in  question  to  Master  Burton. 

"  He  and  you  are  my  Father's  guests  for 
the  night,  Mistress.  But  before  this  I  never 
have  seen  him." 

When  I  answered  her,  trying  in  eagerness 
to  free  myself  from  the  imputation,  the  calm 
voice  of  the  Jesuit  interrupted. 

' '  I  may  explain  that  Mistress  Throck- 
morton has  been  adjudged  the  ward  of 
Master  Burton  over  Lord  Falcon  by  the 
King.  And  these  guests  stop  for  the  night 
on  the  road  to  London." 

She  had  turned  about,  facing  us,  while  the 
dame  stood  with  the  candle  still  raised 
partly,  as  if  waiting  for  further  word  from 
Master  Burton.  A  smile  gathered,  of  dis- 
dain of  both  the  Priest  and  of  him  he  had  de- 
clared her  guardian.  But,  when  she  spoke, 
it  was  not  impatiently,  so  much  as  sadly. 

•*  I,  Master  Sylvester,  of  Duesdale,  am  in 
dispute  betv.-een  these  two,  Master  Burton, 


THE  LADY  AT  THE   DEATH.  1 23 

and  my  Lord  Falcon  ;  because  my  estate  is 
great,    and   I   have    no    relative    on    God's 
earth.     I  am  impatient  at  some  of  the  pro- 
ceedings of  these  guardians, — this  is  all." 
Thereupon,  I  was  constrained  to  say  : 
"  I  would  offer  my  poor  service,  Mistress." 
But     Master     Burton     interrupted     with 
splendid  disdain. 

"  Pardon,  Master  Sylvester  of  Duesdale,  I 
must  ask  you,  since  I  have  Lord  Duesdale's 
sanction,  not  to  interfere  in  my  affairs  with 
my  ward. 

Now  I,  seeing  in  her  face  which  seemed  to 
say,  "Believe  me,  before  him,"  answered 
quite  as  splendidly,  that  even  if  he  might  be 
her  guardian,  not  on  that  account  did  it  be- 
come me  to  forget  my  manners  as  a  gentle- 
man ;  and  I  was  noting  her  tine  face,  that 
now  was  rosy,  and  anon  paled,  as  she  passed 
from  one  to  another  emotion.  Master  Burton 
paced  the  room  up  and  down,  his  hands 
stuck  in  his  doublet,  nor  was  it  hard  to  see 
that  he  was  beside  himself  with  rage. 


124  THREE   WORTHIES. 

**  I  even  have  a  score  of  armed  men 
making  your  Father's  courtesy  imperative 
upon  you,  Master  Sylvester,"  said  he. 

The  Priest,  too,  laid  his  hand  upon  my 
shoulder,  as  he  might  reason  with  a  child. 
"Suffer  not  your  anger  to  forget  your 
manners  ;  nor  do  you  make  yourself  a  fool,  I 
pray  you." 

Now  Master  Burton  was  speaking  with 
calm  precision  to  his  ward. 

"  I  must  ask  you  again  to  go  to  your  room, 
Mistress." 

And  she  looked  at  him,  defiantly,  it  ap- 
peared to  me,  yet  saying  : 

"  I  will  obey.,  Sir,  since  I  must." 

I  saw  her  turn  about,  while  the  dame,  lift- 
ing a  candle  with  one  hand,  threw  back  the 
door  with  the  other  ;  and  the  lady,  pausing 
for  a  single  instant,  glanced  back  to  me. 

**  To-day,  Sir,  I  thought  you  brave  as  you 
leapt  your  mare "  ;  as  if  she  even  implied 
the  opposite  ;  for  an  instant  I  saw  her,  and 
the  old  dame,  and  Dame  Fairweather  waiting 


THE   LADY   AT   THE   DEATH.  12$ 

in  the  hall  beyond,  and  then  they  had  gone 
behind  the  closing  door. 

"She  has  much  spirit,"  quoth  Master 
Burton,  nodding  to  the  Priest,  and  again 
walking  to  and  fro  before  the  fire,  which  lit 
his  face  fitfully.  "Such  a  lass  may  turn  a 
man's  resolution,  and  I  can  pardon.  Master 
Sylvester,  your  forgetfulness  of  the  courtesy 
fitting  your  Father's  guest." 

Already  I  had  been  thinking  of  the  Avords 
I  might  have  uttered,  and  that  would  have 
sounded  becomingly,  but  such  as  had  not 
come  to  my  tongue  ;  as  is  often  our  poor 
human  way  after  graceless  action.  And 
when  my  Father's  guest  had  ended  speaking, 
I  was  in  high  rage,  which  burst  out  beyond 
control. 

"  If  this.  Sir,  were  not  my  own  house,  I 
would  force  your  pardon  down  your  throat." 

While  he  paused,  with  jaw  dropped  in 
amaze,  and  the  Priest's  face,  too,  on  me,  I 
turned  my  back  upon  them;  and  the  room, 
lest  I  might  say  that  which  should  be  even 


126  THREE    WORTHIES. 

more  unbecoming,  considering  that  he  was 
the  guest  of  Duesdale.  Now  at  the  door  I 
stumbled  over  the  old  hound,  Ajax,  that, 
rising,  fawned  upon  me. 

"Ah,"  I  said  in  chagrin,  "you  at  least 
see  me  at  my  best."  And  the  hound  fol- 
lowed with  noiseless  sympathy  to  my  room, 
where  I  sat  in  reflection  that  was  bitter  and 
self- reproachful. 

Again  I  saw  her  in  the  glade  against  the 
background  of  the  old  oaks  ;  and,  now,  so 
strangely  in  the  hall  of  my  own  house,  dis- 
puting with  him  who  claimed  the  right  of 
guardian ;  but  whose  face,  though  finely 
formed,  and  possessing,  moreover,  the  mask 
of  worldly  wisdom  and  craft,  yet  I  trusted 
not,  and  I  understood  that  Master  Burton 
and  the  Church  wished  for  the  control  of 
Mistress  Throckmorton's  estate,  and  that  my 
Father  abetted  the  plan,  which  had,  too,  the 
King's  support.  Lord  Falcon  was  a  Protes- 
tant, and  unscrupulous  enough.  But  that 
which  troubled  most,  was  that  she  herself 


THE  LADY  AT  THE  DEATH.      127 

was  not  pleased  with  Master  Burton's  course, 
nor  at  his  manner  of  taking  her  from  my 
Lord  Falcon's  charge  ;  and  I  thought  of  her 
last  taunting  remark,  as  she  had  left  me. 

She  was,  then,  of  more  than  ordinary 
attraction  ; — since,  I  have  kno\\'n  many  ac- 
knowledging her  beauty  ;  and  this  ma-y  ex- 
plain why  I  thought  so  deeply  upon  the 
matter,  and  why  I  was  chagrined  over  the 
clumsy  manner  in  which  I  had  left  her  in 
the  hunt,  and  over  my  boyish  action  in  my 
own  house.  And  at  last,  in  the  darkness, 
with  the  hound  as  comrade,  I  came  to  the 
resolution  to  see  her  again  that  night,  and  to 
offer  her  my  service  for  whatever  she  might 
wish.  I  may  wonder  at  this  now  that  I  am 
old  ;  and  at  the  small  cause  provoking  me  to 
prove  to  her  that  I  was  no  idle  tool  of  Master 
Burton,  nor  of  any  man,  even  of  Lord  Dues- 
dale  himself  ;  and  that  I  would  do  aught  she 
might  wish.  The  resolve,  indeed,  as  you 
may  say,  was  not  of  Chance  ;  yet  the  circum- 
stances leading  thereto  were  certainly  chance 


128  THREE   WORTHIES. 

ones,  as  the  keenest  logician  needs  must 
acknowledge.  And  my  chamber  became 
unbearable,  and  I  must  act,  to  find  her. 

Now  my  man  Launt  Fairweather's  room, 
was  not  far  removed  ;  and  I  stole  through 
the  sleeping  house  to  the  place.  The  door 
being  unlatched,  I  heard  his  hard  breathing  ; 
while  through  the  window  was  the  faint 
pattering  of  the  storm  as  if  it  were  near 
clearing. 

"  Launt,  Launt." 

Instantly  he  had  me  by  the  arm,  with  a 
cry  that  I  thought  must  have  shaken  the 
dead. 

**  Be  still, — 't  is  nobody." 

•*  Master  Sylvester?" 

"Yes,  L" 

By  this  he  was  in  his  senses,  and  I  told 
him  to  find  from  his  mother.  Dame  Fair- 
weather,  or  by  his  own  observation,  where 
Mistress  Throckmorton  was,  and  then  to 
return  very  quickly  to  me.  Speedily,  without 
any  question,  he  was  up  and  dressed,  as  he 


THE  LADY  AT  THE  DEATH.  I29 

always  has  been,  the  most  ready  knave  in 
the  world.  He  left  me  waiting  in  the  place  ; 
for  I  should  have  liked  better  to  have  him 
caught  than  that  I  myself  should  be  in  the 
plight.  I  thought  of  many  things  as  I  waited, 
yet,  having  once  decided  on  an  undertaking, 
it  was  my  manner,  when  a  youth,  to  carry 
this  through  at  whatever  cost  to  prudence. 

Presently  Launt  declared  himself,  closing 
the  door  softly, 

'  *  I  found  fellows  drinking  ale  in  the 
kitchen.  So  I  went  round  about  to  the 
North  Tower,  and  there " 

"  And  there  ?" 

**  And  there,  through  a  crack  of  the  door,  I 
saw  the  lady  writing  at  the  table,  while  the 
old  dame  sat  near,  stitching.  Then  I  turned 
about,  and  as  I  turned,  I  heard  steps. 
Quickly,  as  you  have  seen  me  Master,  I 
tiptoed  the  other  way,  dropping  behind  a 
chest  ;  and,  as  he  passed,  I,  trembling,  saw 
that  it  was  Father  de  Rand.  He  went  to 
the  Mistress'  door  and  back." 


I30  THREE   WORTHIES. 

"And  you  are  here?  I  understand,"  said 
I,  meaning  more  that  I  had  my  plan  defi- 
nitely thought  out  than  that  I  comprehended 
his  proceedings  afterward.  And  I  told  him 
to  go  to  the  stables  as  stilly  as  he  could,  and 
to  saddle  my  Dolly,  and  a  horse  of  high 
spirit,  which  I  doubted  not  that  a  lady  who 
had  been  at  the  death  might  manage.  Then 
Launt  was  to  wait  for  me,  till  I  signalled  ;  and 
if  any  one  of  Master  Burton's  men  bothered, 
he  was  to  silence  him,  if  possible  by  a 
wrestling  trick  I  had  taught  him,  and  which 
I  had  learned  at  Christ  Church,  from  a 
Spaniard,  a  servant  of  Sir  Daniel  Milo, 
whose  mother  came  from  Andalusia,  as  you 
know.  By  this,  catching  a  man  from  behind 
and  grasping  his  Adam's  apple,  you  can 
silence  and  gag  him  with  the  free  hand.  Or, 
if  this  should  be  impossible  I  directed  Launt, 
by  such  means  as  he  might  devise,  to  gain 
me  a  road  for  escape,  such  as  I  should  need. 

Yet,  I  knew  not  what  she  might  wish  ;  and 
the  plan  must  have  seemed  whimsical  in  truth 


THE   LADY   AT   THE   DEATH.  1 51 

to  another.  Launt  but  nodded,  taking  my 
word,  which  he  went  to  fulfil.  When  v/e  should 
be  in  the  court, — if  she  should  wish  to  avail 
herself  of  my  service,  and  if  I  were  not  crazy, 
after  a  notion, — the  greatest  danger  would 
be  the  lowering  of  the  creaking  draw  ;  thr.t 
certainly  would  waken  all.  Then,  I  decided, 
as  I  went  softly  through  the  halls,  like  a 
thief  in  my  own  house,  we  must  dash  our 
horses  on ;  and  I  swore  we  should  not  be 
taken. 

If  she  should  wish  my  service  !  Like  a 
sorry  fool  I  paused,  feeling  the  folly  of  the 
plan.  Presently  I  saw  on  the  floor  a  bar  of 
light  from  the  crack  between  the  wainscoting 
and  the  door.  The  house  was  still,  save  for 
the  wind,  and,  standing  there  with  my  inten- 
tion I  heard  the  scratching  of  a  pen.  Then 
I  knocked  lightly  ;  and,  throwing  back  the 
door,  I  stepped  in,  closing  it,  and  timid  over 
my  own  daring.  First,  strange  as  it  may 
be  deemed,  I  noted  the  old  dame,  her  sew- 
ing dropped  into  her  lap,  a  thimble  between 


132  THREE    WORTHIES, 

her  long  fingers,  and  her  face  in  startled 
fright  ;  but  Mistress  Throckmorton  had 
turned  half  about  towards  me,  her  hair  stray- 
ing over  her  face,  which,  too,  looked  aston- 
ished question. 

"  Mistress,"  I  said,  gaining  my  voice,  "  I 
knew  that  you  were  dissatisfied  with  being 
detained  here,  through  that  which  you  said 
when  I  stood  listening  like  a  clown.  Now  I 
would  show  that  I  am  not  what  I  appeared  ; 
but  can  act,  perhaps  rudely,  yet  as  you  may 
wish.  If  you  may  be  tired  with  following 
Master  Burton  I  will  take  you  wherever  you 
may  direct." 

And  now,  my  own  words  lending  me  cour- 
age, I  bowed  before  her,  as  a  knight,  I 
thought  then,  offering  service  to  a  lady. 
For  I  was  but  twenty  and  she  was  a  fair 
woman. 

Both  she  and  the  old  dame  had  not 
found  tongue  for  astonishment,  till  I  ended 
the  words,  which  sound  in  the  memory  as 
these  I  put  to  paper. 


THE   LADY    AT    THE   DEATH.  1 33 

*'  Are  you  mad,  Sir?  " 

**  Mad  and  rude,"  said  the  old  dame.  But 
now  indeed  I  was  decided  to  bear  out  the 
adventure  becomingly. 

"  One  I  may  be,"  said  I,  "  perhaps  even 
the  other.  If  Mistress  Throckmorton  wishes 
to  make  an  outcry,  she  even  may.  But  as 
for  you,  good  woman  of  Master  Burton,  you 
must  not  speak  nor  utter  a  sound,  or  I  swear  I 
'vill  gag  you,  and  carry  Mistress  Throckmor- 
/on  away, — if  she  so  may  wish  ?  " 

"  If  I  may  wish?" 

Now  the  old  dame  slunk  away  into  a  cor- 
ner as  if  the  violence  of  my  entrance  left 
small  doubt  of  my  persistence,  even  in  gag- 
ging her,  and  she  was  trembling.  With  one 
eye  upon  this  keeper,  I  yet  watched  the  lady, 
who  had  risen  facing  me  ;  and  her  counte- 
nance drove  me  almost  into  despair  at  my 
poor,  foolish  methods. 

"Yes,  if  you  would,  Mistress  Throckmor- 
ton, I  will  help  you  to  escape.  I  can  do 
nothing  more  than  this.      Can  you   forgive 


134  THREE    WORTHIES. 

me  ?  My  rudeness  ?  My  violence  ?  This 
entrance,  beyond  pardon,  it  seems  ?  Yet  in 
my  own  home  Master  Burton's  score  of  fel- 
lows render  me  so  powerless  that  I  had  no 
other  method  of  communicating  with  you 
save  this  rude  one.  Ah,  Mistress,  I  only 
would  do  your  bidding,  to  show  that  I  was 
not  unmoved.  If  you  may  wish  to  be  out  of 
this  self-styled  guardian's  power,  I  will  take 
you  from  him,  or  I  will  di^  for  your  whim  !  " 

"Indeed,  Sir,"  said  she,  while  the  old 
dame  chattered  from  the  corner,  "  I  never 
knew  a  man  such  as  you.  I  understand  you 
not.     You  come — " 

"  Or  go,  if  you  so  bid." 
" — to  take  me  away." 

' '  To  atone  for  my  powerlessness  to  play 
the  host]  worthily  when  my  Father's  house  is 
taken  from  my  control." 

Then  suddenly  she  was  laughing,  though 
for  an  instant  I  thought  the  laughter  was 
tears. 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,  Sir  ;  never  was  I 


THE  LADY  AT  THE  DEATH.  I35 

served  like  this.  Surely  you  outstrip  the 
gallants  all.     You  are — " 

"  Mistress  Throckmorton,  your  servant,  if 
you  will  accept  my  service." 

But  suddenly  out  of  her  alarm  and  confu- 
sion appeared  a  resolution  such  as  was  to  be 
expected  of  one  who  rode  so  daringly  after 
the  fox. 

"Your  idea?  Your  manner?  Yet  I  like 
your  face." 

"  Mistress,"  reasoned  the  old  dame.  But 
I  looked  at  her  with  fierceness  till  she  trem- 
bled and  said  no  more.  In  a  still,  soft  voice 
Mistress  Throckmorton  questioned  : 

"You  come  to  take  me  away? — to  free 
me?" 

And  I  bowed  as  gracefully  as  I  could. 
Now  indeed  she  was  as  she  had  looked  in 
the  hunt. 

"  Sir,  your  entrance  has  been  strange,  and 
my  decision  will  appear  stranger.  I  even 
will  go." 

Then  was  I  glad  that  T  had  dared. 


136  THREE   WORTHIES. 

"  Now  at  once,  where  you  will." 

**  But  what  may  happen  to  you." 

"  It  matters  not  for  me.  I  am  strong  for 
my  own  matters  ;  you  are  a  woman,  treated 
as  you  do  not  like," 

"  To  save  me  ?  to  free  me  !  I  thank  you. 
Sir." 

Gently  she  put  her  hand  in  mine,  and  I, 
like  the  worshipful  youth  I  was,  raised  it  to 
the  lips. 

As  I  waited  she  came  back  softly. 

•'  I  wronged  you  ;  I  taunted  you.  Can 
you  forgive  ?  " 

"  Can  I  thank  you  enough  for  this  chance 
of  showing  that  I  am  not  a  clown  ?  " 

"  Rather  are  you  a  friend  to  a  helpless 
girl,"  said  she. 

So  gathering  boldness  with  success,  I  told 
her  that  it  was  needful  to  be  away  without 
delay. 

Then,  when  Mistress  Throckmorton  was 
ready,  I  turned  toward  the  dame,  warning 
her  not  to  make  outcry.     Yet  from  the  North 


THE  LADY   AT   THE   DEATH.  I37 

Tower  I  knew  that  her  cries  were  not  likely 
to  carry  ;  and  I  turned  the  lock. 

*'  Now,  stilly,  Mistress,"  I  whispered.  I 
only  heard  her  quick  breathing,  as  we  turned 
out  of  the  corridor,  down  the  narrow  steps. 
Suddenly,  some  one  came  toward  us.  Though 
I  could  not  see  in  that  dark  place,  I  drew 
her  against  the  wall.  And  she  understood, 
though  I  felt  her  hand  tremble  against  my 
shoulder.  The  step  was  nearer  ;  yet  nearer  ; 
and  I  thought  our  breathing  was  louder  than 
the  roll  of  cannon.  Slowly  the  sound  passed 
like  the  steps  of  an  old  or  wear)'  man  ;  and, 
without  suspecting  once,  he  had  gone  toward 
the  North  Tower. 

But  we  went  down  the  corridor,  and  to  the 
little  door  that  opens  on  the  court.  The 
bolt  seemed  to  clang  out  upon  the  stillness, 
till  we  were  in  the  court,  with  the  rain  upon 
our  faces. 

"Master  Sylvester;  Master  Sylvester," 
came  Launt's  voice;  and  directly  we  were  by 
the  horses.     I  bent  forward,  and  lightly,  as 


138  THREE   WORTHIES. 

one  who  knows  a  horse,  and  whose  muscles 
are  supple,  she  was  in  the  saddle. 

Launt  faded  into  darkness,  while  we 
waited  for  the  creaking  of  the  draw,  and  the 
dash  beyond  into  darkness. 

"  You  are  a  brave  man." 

"There  is  much  yet."  Her  hand  fell  upon 
my  shoulder.  An  unsteady  voice,  wording 
some  ale-house  song,  preceded  uncertain 
steps  ;  and  then  he  had  gone  beyond, 
though,  if  he  had  had  his  senses,  he  must 
have  heard.  A  cry,  as  if  from  the  tower  we 
had  left,  followed,  and  I  thought  of  the  old 
dame,  on  whom  I  had  turned  lock  and  key. 

"  Will  he  ever  lower  it  ?  " 

"You  shall  get  away;  I  have  sworn  it» 
Mistress  Throckmorton." 

"  I  am  not  now  afraid  ;  but Oh,  Sir, 

now  you  may  wonder  at  my  poor  spirit." 

"Oh,  Mistress  Throckmorton,  do  you 
trust  to  me," 

Then  very  simply  said  she,  "If  I  had 
doubted  should  I  have  followed?" 


THE   LADY    AT   THE    DEATH.  139 

"  Believe  me  ;  and  may  I  serve  you  wor- 
thily !  " 

Suddenly  the  draw  creaked. 

"  Now,"  I  whispered,  for  silence  could  no 
longer  be  our  part.  Shortly  Master  Burton 
would  be  after  ;  and  we  dashed  across  the 
ancient  moat  of  Duesdale  into  the  pitchy 
darkness.  For  an  instant  I  thought  of  Launt 
certain  of  discovery,  perhaps  of  punishment. 
But  he  had  good  wit  ;  and  with  me  lay  the 
more  important  adventure. 

*'  At  least  we  have  a  good  start." 

"Was  there  ever  a  girl  like  me?  "  she  cried. 

**  None  so  brave  a  rider." 

"  None,  Sir,  so  imprudent." 

"  Ah,  you  doubt  me?"  said  I,  with  foolish 
repetition. 

"Can  you  ask,  INIaster  Duesdale?"  an- 
swered she,  as  if  I  had  not  before  been 
assured. 

But  here,  partly  since  I  felt  foolish,  I 
pulled  back  my  Dolly,  calling  to  my  com- 
rade to  rein  her  horse. 


X40  THREE   WORTHIES. 

*'  I  know  a  little  lane  that  may  lead  tTietn 
astray." 

Then  dismounting,  I  raised  the  latch  of 
the  gate,  which  opens  on  a  lane — years  since 
this  was  closed — that  led  then  for  miles 
through  the  fields  of  Duesdale  to  Far  Dues- 
dale  and  the  Windsor  Road.  No  noise  of 
pursuit  came  as  yet  from  Duesdale  ;  only  our 
own  horses,  and  the  dripping  from  the  trees  ; 
for  the  rain  was  stopping. 

"  In  there?"  she  questioned. 

When  she  v/^as  beyond,  I  led  in  Dolly, 
latching  the  gate. 

'*  We  will  walk  the  horses,"  said  I,  mount- 
ing. "A  rainy  night  is  fitted  to  such  an 
enterprise  ;  since  many  sounds  may  absorb 
our  horses'  steps." 

As  the  horses  walked,  Mistress  Throck- 
morton in  silence  and  I  embarrassed,  know- 
ing not  what  to  say,  the  .andscape  grew 
grayish  out  of  blackness,  and  presently  I  saw 
we  should  have  the  moon. 

'*  Shall  it  be  to  my  Lord  Falcon's  ?" 


THE  LADY  AT  THE  DEATH.  I4I 

"Not  there.  Have  I  not  fled  these  gen- 
tlemen who  dispute  over  my  estate  !  " 

Silently  we  rode  till  again  I  asked. . 

"  But  where,  Mistress  ?  " 

"  As  you  may  like,  Sir." 

Presently  her  A'oice  began. 

'*  If  they  should  overtake  ?  " 

"  We  have  the  start  ;  they  shall  not  take 
us,  unless  you  may  v.ish  it  ?" 

' '  I  wish  it  ? — When  I  have  followed  ?  But 
am  I  not  a  foolish  maid  ?  I  hated  Master 
Burton.  I  dreamed  of  my  freedom.  Yet, 
when  I  have  it  I  know  not  how  to  use  it." 

I  knew  not  how  to  answer  ;  and,  again, 
was  timid  before  her,  as  I  had  been  v/hen  I 
had  left  her  at  the  hunt. 

"  Ah,"  I  cried  in  despair,  "  I  would  that  I 
had  a  smooth  tongue  to  tell  you  that  which 
is  nimble  in  my  thought,  but  clumsy  upon 
the  tongue.  I  would  I  were  a  gallant,  such 
as  he  whom  I  saw  with  you  at  my  Lord 
Falcon's  ! " 

Thereupon  she  laughed  merrily. 


142  THREE   WORTHIES. 

"  Do  you  think,  Sir,  that  he  would  have 
acted  for  me  as  you  ?  Indeed  I  would  not 
have  such  as  he.  And  what  a  risk  are  you 
taking  for  me  ;  disgrace  from  your  father  ;  I 
know  not  all." 

"  I  care  not, — if  you  are  free  to  act  as  you 
will  ! " 

"  You  care  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  care  for  the  adventure  only  as  it 
may  result  happily," 

And  she  said  softly  :  "I  know  not  a  man 
who  cares  not  more  for  the  world  than  any 
woman,  however  he  may  forswear  himself. 
I  saw,  behind  their  protestations,  their  na- 
tures, even  when  the  he  was  that  Benham 
whom  just  now  you  were  envying.  As  for 
the  other,  the  suitor  of  Master  Burton's 
choice,  I  have  not  given  him  a  fancy." 

Yet  I  said  nothing,  like  some  foolish  boy. 

"  But,  Sir,  I  will  suffer  no  man  to  choose 
my  suitors  ;  nor  will  I  go  back  to  Master 
Burton  ;  nor  to  my  Lord  Falcon  ;  nor  to  any 
one  who  holds  me  less  than  my  estate.     Sir, 


THE   LADY    AT   THE   DEATH.  I43 

I  am  free,  on  a  rainy  night,  with  a  cavalier 
strong  and  daring  to  bear  me  to  safety." 

Her  shy  laughter  gave  me  heart. 

"Are  you  not  wet  through?  But  it  is 
clearing?  " 

' '  Perhaps  ;  I  have  not  noted.  Do  you  not 
deem  that  your  entrance  to  me  and  the  dame 
was  rude  ?  "  she  asked,  in  the  queer  humor  of 
women. 

"  Yes,  rude  ;  yet  how  could  I  have  done 
otherwise?" 

"  No  one  in  the  world  would  have  done  as 
you.  Master  Duesdale." 

"  Ah,  I  know  it — I  was  foolish  ;  no,  not 
foolish,  since  now  I  am  riding  with  you." 
For  I  began  in  some  clumsy  manner  to 
remember  the  phrase  of  a  gallant. 

Even  if  there  had  been  pursuit,  I  deem  I 
should  not  have  noted  it  while  she  talked, 
till,  in  forgetfulness,  I  found  a  voice  for  my 
thought,  forgetful  of  gallantry  in  truthfulness. 

"  And  are  you  not  brave  and  womanly — to 
read  that  I  am  trustful  ?     I  saw  you  in  the 


144  THREE    WORTHIES. 

glade  between  the  oaks,  while  the  hounds 
were  about  the  fox,  and  I  said,  There  at  least 
is  a  woman  whom  it  would  be  sweet  to 
know."     And  I  believed  I  meant  as  I  spoke. 

*'  Ah,  you  do  not  know  women.  Are  you, 
too,  a  silly  gallant  ?  " 

"  Have  I  played  his  silly  part?  " 

"  No,  I  think  not — altogether." 

*'  Oh,  Mistress  Throckmorton,  I  even  mean 
all  I  tell  you,  though  at  the  hunt,  as  well  as 
at  Duesdale,  I  acted  like  a  very  boy." 

"  I  thought  that — once,"  said  she,  de- 
murely. 

"  And  now,"  I  cried,  "  I  have  met  you 
only  to  lose  you.  There  be  a  few  miles,  and 
the  companionship  shall  be  ended." 

Yet,  when  I  had  spoken,  I  fell  to  trem- 
bling ;  and  in  the  moonlight,  through  the 
breaking  clouds,  I  saw  her  turn  her  face,  at 
which  I  wondered. 

**  I  did  not  think  you  unfair — not  once, — 
so  to  take  advantage." 

Straightway   to  myself    I    was    ofifender. 


THE  LADY   AT   THE   DEATH.  I45 

and,  against  the  heart,  I  rebelled  upon  her 
reproof. 

"  I  have  lost  my  sense  ;  pray  forgive." 

"And  I " 

As  she  paused,  T  questioned. 

"  And  you?" 

*'  It  matters  not,  Sir,"  said  she. 

Thus  we  rode  in  silence,  passing  no  one  on 
that  lonely  lane,  nor  hearing  whether  they 
followed,  nor  did  Mistress  Throckmorton 
speak  more  ;  and  I  was  pityful  for  her,  and 
in  anger  at  myself.  And,  at  last,  so  that  we 
knew  it  not,  on  account  of  our  intent  thought, 
the  morning  light  came  over  the  hills  and 
dimmed  the  moon,  till  we  were  riding  by  the 
day  through  the  fields,  while,  on  occasion, 
some  rural  fellow  might  stare  at  us,  or  a 
maid,  or  a  dame,  or  a  colt,  or  a  cow,  or  a 
little  lad  driving  swine  ;  and  some  bowed  to 
me,  but  mostly  they  knew  me  not — only 
looked  the  query  in  stupid  astonishment ;  yet 
on  that  way,  which  was  not  public,  as  I  have 
written,  we  were  the  only  wayfarers. 

10 


146  THREE  WORTHIES. 

"  Whither  do  we  go?"  she  asked  ;  and  I 
saw  that  her  face  was  tired  and  paled,  and 
again  I  was  pityful  of  her. 

"First  to  the  village,  Far  Duesdale,  and 
then  to  London — and  then  where  you  will." 

"  But  I  have  no  will." 

"Ah,  Mistress,  I  know  not  what  to  do  ; 
nor  do  I  know  aught  in  this  foolish  adven- 
ture, save  that  I  swear  to  take  you  where 
you  may  wish." 

And  she  spoke  softly,  her  face  no  longer 
seemed  pale,  while  her  eyes  wandered  about 
the  landscape : 

*'  Nor  do  I  know  more  than  you." 

Shortly  she  asked,  strangely  indeed,  for 
she  had  not  seemed  froward  : 

*  *  Did  you  ever  know  one  so  froward  ?  " 

And  I  spoke  my  thought  in  a  tone  of 
jest : 

'  *  Nor  a  braver,  nor  a  finer  lady,  who  can 
manage  a  horse  and  not  turn  pale  over  dan- 
ger ;  and  whose  heart  is  sweet  and  a  good 
woman's,   though    not    over-prudish.      She 


THE  LADY  AT  THE   DEATH.  I47 

shall  be  my  goddess  ;  and  her,  if  I  ever  mar- 
ry, I  shall  marry." 

"Do  you  know  this  Her,  Sir  Prattle?" 
asked  she  softly. 

"  Yes,  Mistress, — even  you." 

"  Ah,  you  prattle  indeed.  How  may  you? 
Directly  you  will  be  repenting  all  these  fine 
speeches  to  her  you  never  had  seen  two  days 
gone." 

"  Do  you  think  me  dull  and  fickle  ?  "  cried 
I,  foolish  prattler  of  twenty. 

"You  are  too  brave  for  so  sad  a  character. 
Yet,  they  say  brave  men  forswear  themselves 
with  women  ;  and  you  are  impulsive. " 

And  I — but  it  matters  not, — that  which  I 
said.  (I  deem  such  speeches  sickish  to  those 
who  may  not  be  in  love  ;  and  silly  to  those 
who  may  have  common-sense,  or  who  hold  a 
woman  a  caprice  ;  and  I  had  better  say  no 
more  of  this,  lest  I  be  deemed  a  fool ;  but 
instead,  I  will  carry  the  adventure  to  an  end. 
And  I  know  that  you,  whoever  you  may  be, 
that  read  this  account,  will  see  clearly  that 


148  THREE   WORTHIES. 

Chance,  rather  than  any  Will  of  our  own, 
counts  for  most  in  this  Life  ;  and  indeed,  as  I 
have  said,  I  can  bring  bearing  on  the  argu- 
ment, many  things  which  have  happened  to 
me.) 

In  the  village  of  Far  Duesdale  the  living 
was  held  at  this  time  by  a  certain  Vicar,  John 
Nicholas,  who  stood  much  in  awe  of  my 
father,  and  who  liked  me,  inasmuch  as  his 
sons  had  been  my  play-fellows.  One  of  these 
I  secured  lately  a  clerkship  in  Lord  De  La- 
Ware's  plantation,  over  the  seas.  It  v/as  to 
this  vicarage  that  I  destined  to  take  Mistress 
Throckmorton.  But  talking  over  the  matter, 
I  considered  that  it  would  be  more  prudent 
to  go  beyond  Far  Duesdale,  to  Mistress  Bur- 
lington's place.  As  we  reined  our  horses,  the 
Vicar  stared  mightily  hard,  and  questioned 
whence  we  came,  and  Avho  the  lady  might 
be  ;  but  standing  there  and  Mistress  Throck- 
morton having  alighted,  I  said  :  "I  would 
have  you  get  for  us  a  chariot." 

And  he  objected  much,  saying  that  he  did 


THE  LADY   AT  THE   DEATH.  1 49 

not  comprehend,  till  I  was  angered  at  his 
obstinacy,  and  drawing  my  sword,  I  swore 
that  I  should  run  him  through  if  he  did  not 
do  my  bidding.  But  Bess  (for  it  seems  more 
natural  that  she  should  be  made  Bess  than 
Mistress  Throckmorton)  berated  me  here, 
saying  I  was  too  peevish.  Then  I  declared 
that  I  was  only  froward  that,  if  caught,  we 
might  defy  her  guardians,  and  leave  them  to 
tear  themselves  in  pieces  like  mauling  cats  ; 
for  we  should  be  out  of  reach  of  their  power 
to  hurt.  And  anon,  I  grew  fierce,  as  Master 
Nicholas,  the  Vicar,  tried  to  steal  away  ;  till 
out  of  very  fear  he  was  constrained  to  obey, 
though  saying  :  **  I  know  not  what  trouble 
this  may  bring  me  to." 

"  Talk  not, — but  act !"  cried  I,  "  f or  I  am 
her  guardian." 

Then  Bess  declared  slyly,  "  That  you  in- 
deed are  not." 

"  I  am  now  your  guardian,  at  least  before 
God,  who  regards  not  Papist  more  than  Protes- 
tant." And  I  told  the  worthy  Nicholas  to  tell 


I50  THREE    WORTHIES. 

my  Lord  Falcon,  or  my  father,  or  any  who 
censured,  that  I,  Sylvester  Duesdale,  not  he, 
was  blameworthy,  if  any  blame  might  be 
given.  And  she,  my  Bess,  stood  there  with- 
out a  word ;  and  I  saw  that  she  was  tired 
from  the  excitement  which  might  have  tired 
a  strong  man. 

Shortly  the  Vicar  came  again  :  "  'T  is 
strange.  Master  Sylvester, — indeed  I  fear  to. 
How  are  you  changed  ?  " 

"  Leave  the  matter  to  me,  you  dolt,"  said 
I  in  anger.  "  Only  find  a  cart  or  chariot  for 
my  lady." 

"  Oh,  am  I  tired,"  said  she,  breathing  hard. 
But  I  whispered:  "An  half  hour  more, 
brave  heart."  Then  we  should  be  at  Mis- 
tress Burlington's  who  was  a  whimsical,  just 
lady,  such  as  would  be  likely  to  aid  Bess ; 
thence,  I  said,  I  should  go  on  to  Court  to  lay 
the  matter  before  the  King  ;  since  its  sudden- 
ness, which  is  almost  beyond  belief,  might 
be  taken  up  against  us,  and  I,  like  a  man, 
must  face  the  gossip  and  accusation. 


THE   LADY   AT   THE   DEATH.  15! 

"  But  I  cannot  see  you  go  !  Who  can  tell 
what  may  happen  ?  "  cried  she,  when  I  told 
her  that  we  had  dared  much,  and  that  more 
it  behooved  us  to  do  to  carry  the  adventure 
to  a  becoming  end.  Thus  we  rode  to  INIis- 
tress  Burlington's  place,  leaving  the  swains 
of  Far  Duesdale,  their  gossip,  and  Father 
de  Rand,  and  Master  Burton  our  trail,  if 
they  might  think  to  follow.  For  we  were 
drunken  with  boldness,  and  I  felt  able,  weary 
as  I  might  be,  to  handle  singly  twoscore 
fellows.  Yet  first,  as  1  say,  I  considered  her 
who  was  a-tired  through  the  strangeness  of 
that  night,  and  its  flight,  and  on  account  of 
the  hunt  of  the  yesterday. 

Thus,  discussing  many  things,  we  came  to 
Mistress  Burlington's,  daring  for  the  future 
to  be  passed  together.  I  deem  that  no  one 
was  more  in  wonder  than  Mistress  Burling- 
ton of  that  morning  ;  she  called  us  mad,  then 
silly,  and  anon,  strange  ;  she  trembled  over 
that  which  Lord  Falcon  might  do,  and  the 
King,  and  my  father  ;  but,   like  a  woman. 


152  THREE  WORTHIES. 

she  ended  by  siding  with  us,  while  she  de- 
clared that  she  knew  not  how  a  country  gal- 
lant, such  as  I,  could  dare  to  run  away  with 
a  lady  wooed  by  courtiers  and  the  great.  But 
my  Bess  said,  that  none  had  my  wit.  Then 
Mistress  Burlington  declared  that  we  both 
must  rest,  and  that  we  were  silly  children. 
And  when  Bess  had  gone  Mistress  Burlington 
queried  : 

"  Do  you  know  that  there  is  no  greater 
heiress  in  the  kingdom  ?  " 

**  Nor  care  I,"  said  I. 

"Ah,  you  are  a  child,"  said  she.  In 
laughter  she  declared  that  never  had  she 
read  in  Romance,  or  indeed  anywhere,  of 
such  an  escapade  ;  and  she  wondered  about 
its  end,  and  what  the  King's  pleasure  would 
be,  and  the  consequence  to  herself  in  abet- 
ting us.  But  first,  said  she,  I  should  rest, 
and  then  we  could  consider  the  matter. 
Thus  she  left  me  to  my  weariness, — good 
heart  that  she  was. 

Now,  I  was  awakened  by  a  noise,  as  of  a 


THE  LADY  AT  THE   DEATH.  1 53 

knocking  below.  In  a  daze  I  thought  first 
that  all  had  been  a  dream  ;  and,  again,  that 
as  I  slept  Bess  had  been  taken  from  me. 
As  I  lay  there  in  such  uncertainty,  while  the 
sunlight  streamed  into  the  room,  came  a 
lackey  of  Mistress  Burlington,  saying  that 
she  craved  to  see  me,  and  that  there  were 
two  below  with  her.  Then,  hastily,  I  went 
down,  and  I  saw  the  pale  Jesuit,  seeming  as 
if  he  had  slept  not  a  wink,  and  Master 
Burton  who  had  forgotten  his  urbanity,  as  a 
man  may  a  false  face  which  has  hidden  him 
in  the  masquerade.  My  hand  slipped  to  my 
sword  when  I  saw  the  pair, — not  knowing 
what  to  expect ;  yet,  with  certain  assurance, 
which  had  come  to  me  during  that  night,  I 
tried  to  don  Master  Burton's  mask ;  at 
which  he  became  the  angryer,  while  Father 
de  Rand  observed  me  slyly. 

' '  You  have  fooled  with  daring ;  and  I 
swear  you  shall  suffer,"  said  Master  Burton. 

And  I  bowed  my  head,  since  indeed  I  might 
not  have  seemed  well  to  another  in  the  affair. 


154  THREE  WORTHIES. 

*'  I  have  no  word  of  explanation  ;  yet  if 
your  grievance  demands,  I  am  not  afraid  to 
meet  you." 

His  hand  was  on  his  sword  as  if  then  and 
there  he  would  have  taken  my  word.  But 
Father  de  Rand  stepped  forward,  laying  his 
hand  upon  Master  Burton's  shoulder. 

Now,  the  lady  whom  I  had  aided — whom 
yesterday  at  the  death  of  the  fox  I  first  had 
seen — had  entered  to  us  disputing,  and  her 
hand  rested  on  my  shoulder. 

"You  and  my  Lord  Falcon,  Master 
Burton,  were  in  dispute  over  my  person  and 
estate.  With  you,  the  King  sided  ;  but  I, 
Sir,  have  acted  for  myself,  and  chosen  to  ap- 
peal from  your  guardianship." 

Master  Burton's  words  seemed  to  catch  in 
his  throat,  while  it  was  Father  de  Rand  who 
spoke,  calmly,  yet  I  knew  well  the  passion 
hidden  in  the  masterful  voice. 

' '  I  know  not  the  change  in  Sylvester 
Duesdale.  Surely  he,  and  you  it  seems, 
must  be  mad." 


THE   LADY  AT   THE   DEATH.  155 

Then  Mistress  Burlington,  who  had  stood 
aside  till  now,  answered  with  firmness,  and 
the  obstinacy  of  woman, 

**  These  children  came  to  me  a  short  hour 
ago.  As  I  understand, — you,  Master  Burton, 
and  my  Lord  Falcon,  are  in  dispute  over  the 
guardianship  of  her  person,  and  of  the  estates 
which  her  father  left  her  in  England  and 
Virginia?  " 

"  Yes,  Madam  ;  and  the  King  has  decided 
for  me,"  said  Master  Burton. 

"  But  now,  this  matter  has  taken  a  new 
face  from  the  foolish  flight  away  from  Dues- 
dale.  While  I  will  not  dispute  your  claim  to 
the  young  lady,  I  deem  that  I  should  only 
incur  trouble  to  myself,  if  I  did  not  keep  her 
till  I  shall  hear  how  the  law  and  the  King 
may  will." 

My  Bess  was  sobbing  on  our  friend's 
shoulder,  as  if  her  heart  would  break  ;  and 
I  believe  if  Mistress  Burlington  had  not 
decided  even  as  she  did,  I  then  and  there 
should  have  slain  Master  Burton. 


156  THREE    WORTHIES. 

"  Madam,"  said  the  Priest,  "  do  you  know 
that  thus  you  bring  yourself  into  the  matter, 
becoming  an  abettor  of  Master  Burton's 
grievance?" 

'*  I  care  not,"  said  Mistress  Burlington. 
"  I  will  deliver  the  young  lady  to  him  the 
judges  may  decree.  Till  then  shall  I  keep 
her  ;  nor  do  I  deem  that  after  the  circum- 
stance, I  should  be  right  in  doing  otherwise." 

Thus  they  disputed  over  Bess,  while  I 
tried  to  soothe  her  sobs.  But  Master  Burton 
and  the  Priest  were  unable  to  do  aught,  inso- 
much as  Mistress  Burlington  was  in  her  own 
house,  surrounded  by  her  servants,  and,  more- 
over, was  powerful  through  her  relatives  at 
the  Court.  Sullenly  they  went  away,  threat- 
ening many  things  ;  when  we,  fearing  that 
they  might  come  again  with  justice's  writ, 
Mistress  Burlington  had  out  her  chariot  ; 
and  we  hastened  to  Whitehall. 

But  now  the  account  has  gone  far  enough 
I  deem,  to  show  how  the  manner  of  Chance 
was  in  the  matter  ;  and  I  will  on  to  the  end. 


THE  LADY  AT   THE   DEATH.  I57 

since  the  further  circumstances  bear  not 
directly  upon  the  argument.  I  need  but  say 
what  the  world  knows,  that  the  acquaintance, 
begun  so  strangely,  ended  in  our  becoming 
— after  trials  and  patience — man  and  wife  ; 
when  all  who  would  have  rejoiced  at  our 
failure,  equally  were  glad  at  our  success, — 
such  being  the  Nature  of  the  Human  Temper. 
My  Father,  though  at  first  he  had  been  in 
rage,  at  the  end  was  not  averse  to  the  circum- 
stance, bringing  a  great  estate  to  Duesdale. 
For  Mistress  Burlington  had  pleaded  well 
our  cause,  and  when  all  was  heard  by  those 
in  Power,  I  was  summoned  to  the  King, 
who,  at  first,  was  stem,  and  then,  falling  into 
laughter,  cried  that  I  was  after  his  heart. 
And  I,  bending  the  knee,  swore  that  I  would 
serve  the  house  of  Stuart,  even  to  the  last. 
Again  he  laughed,  saying  :  **  I  should  have 
done  even  the  same  with  so  fair  a  lady." 

"And  I,  Sire,  will  serve  you  always,"  I 
cried  again,  nor  have  I  forgotten  the  word 
thus   given,   and   now,   though   William   of 


158  THREE   WORTHIES. 

Orange  may  be  in  England,  I,  an  exile  like 
my  King,  in  France,  will  not  rest  till  a  Stuart 
shall  have  his  own  again.  And  she,  my  Bess, 
has  the  same  will  to  teach  our  children  ;  for 
I  cannot  bear  a  man  who  changes  his  poli- 
tics ;  for,  say  I,  next  he  will  be  for  changing 
his  religion,  or  his  wife,  like  the  fickle  fool 
he  is. 

Inasmuch  as  it  is  permitted  to  no  one  to 
do  aught  of  moment  in  this  world  without 
incurring  enmity,  by  the  adventure  I  gained 
the  ill-will  not  alone  of  Master  Burton,  but 
of  the  other,  the  great  Lord  Falcon,  since 
these  villains  were  enraged  that  so  rich  an 
estate  had  escaped  them  ;  and  as  they  both 
maliciously  regarded  their  own  evil  prosper- 
ity of  greater  moment  than  to  protect  the 
orphan,  their  ward.  Yet  by  this  time,  hav- 
ing my  father  and  the  King  as  my  abettors, 
I  feared  not ;  and  I  told  those  villainous 
gentlemen  that  I  would  fight  them  if  they 
thought  themselves  aggrieved  ;  but  they 
both  liked  better  craven  arts  than  the  open 


THE  LADY   AT  THE   DEATH.  I59 

duel.  Nor  do  I  deem  that  their  enmity  has 
redounded  to  my  injury  ;  while  through  in- 
'curringit,  I  won  the  greatest  Prize,  a  wife 
after  my  own  mind,  whom,  I  trust,  Heaven 
has  not  suffered  to  be  sorry  for  her  choice, 
since  I,  on  my  part,  never  have  had  regret 
for  the  wooing  which  begun  so  suddenly, 
and,  now  that  I  am  old,  it  seems  impru- 
dently. But  Twenty  esteems  Prudence  of 
different  quality  than  Seventy. 

Thus,  as  I  say,  did  Chance,  which  the  an- 
cients made  a  Goddess,  bring  about  a  matter 
of  great  moment  for  me  ;  and  many  cir- 
cumstances in  my  life  might  be  cited  in  the 
Disputation,  proving,  to  the  satisfaction  of 
learned  Doctors,  that  Fortuitous  Circum- 
stance often  is  mightier  in  our  careers  than 
our  own  Wills. 


THE   EPILOGUE. 

AT  the  end,  when  the  play  has  been  played, 
and  while  the  stage  carpenters  some- 
where are  putting  away  the  painted  furniture, 
the  epilogue  is  spoken  ;  seriously,  for  the  play 
is  done,  and  naught  may  blot  its  errors  ; — and 
yet  spoken  with  a  certain  note  of  self-praise, 
since  human  nature  must  flaunt  its  work  a 
little,  lest  no  other  soul  be  found  to  do  that 
act  of  courtesy.  Thus  deprecatingly,  yet 
boastfully,  the  owner  of  the  Chateau  by  the 
Loire  bore  out  the  part  of  Epilogue  to  the  tales 
now  told  ;  while  the  listeners  were  upstirring, 
like  folk  drowning  the  last,  perhaps  finest, 
lines  of  the  play  in  their  shuffling  haste  to  be 
l6l 


l62  THE    EPILOGUE. 

gone;  some  muttering  criticism,  as  "melo- 
dramatic," "false  to  life,"  "violating  the 
laws  of  fiction." 

"  Perhaps, — even  likely,"  nodded  he  who 
posed  the  Epilogue,  "  the  adventures  of  these 
dead  gentlemen  were  of  an  old  fashion  now 
derided,  of  a  story  for  a  story's  sake.  Far 
be  its  defence  from  me  !  Rather  will  I  ask 
favor  of  those  liking  simple  cheer,  and  old 

books,    old   friends,     old    wine "      The 

words  not  ended  still  hummed  confusedly 
without  -sensible  sound  ;  for  the  sun  had 
burst  the  bonds  of  the  clouds,  till  matter-of- 
fact  lay  in  glaring  yellow  across  the  age- 
darkened  oak  of  the  floor. 


.?. 


%r 


M^-m^\% 


B     000  002  149     3  >| 


